d- 


t^- 


iviMy^ 


f  O  H  %»  J 


PLAYS 


BY 

LEONID  ANDREYEFF 


THE   BLACK   MASKERS 
THE    LIFE    OF   MAN     '. 
THE   SABINE   WOMEN 


TRANSLATED   FROM  THE   RUSSIAN   BY 

CLARENCE  L.  HEADER  and  FRED  NEWTON  SCOTT 


WITH    AN    INTRODUCTORY    ESSAY    BY 

V.  V.  BRUSYANIN 


AUTHORISED  EDITION 


NEW  YORK 

CHARLES   SCRIBNER'S   SONS 

1920 


r^ 


OOPTBiaHT,  1915,   BY 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


Published  February,  1915 


PREFACE 


The  present  versions  of  "The  Life  of  Man'*  and  "The 
Black  Maskers"  are  based  respectively  on  the  texts  printed 
in  the  seventh  and  tenth  volumes  of  the  "Collected  Works'* 
of  Andreyeff,  published  by  the  Prosveshchenie  Company,  of 
Petrograd;  the  version  of  "The  Sabine  Women"  is  based  on 
the  Russian  text  published  by  J.  Ladyschnikow,  in  Berlin. 

The  spelling  Andreyeff  employed  in  this  volume  is 
adopted  to  secure  conformity  with  the  spelling  Tchekoff 
adopted  in  the  companion  volume  *'  Plays  by  Tchekoff." 
A  more  scientijSc  transliteration  would  be  Andreev. 

The  translators  desire  to  express  their  appreciation  of  the 
courtesy  of  the  author  in  extending  to  them  permission  to 
translate  the  three  plays  included  in  this  volume,  as  well  as 
other  dramas,  and  also  to  acknowledge  with  gratitude  the 
aid  received  from  Mr.  Leonid  Borisovich  Moiseyeff,  of 
Tomsk,  Siberia. 

The  Translators. 

Ann  Arbob,  Mich., 
October,  1914. 


430061 


BIOGRAPHICAL   NOTE 

The  life  of  Leonid  Nikolaivich  Andreyeff  has  been  un- 
eventful. He  was  born  on  August  9,  1871,  in  the  city  of 
Orel,  which  is  situated  about  two  hundred  miles  south  of 
Moscow,  in  the  country  of  the  Great  Russians.  The  father, 
whose  income  was  always  small,  died  while  Andreyeff  was  a 
student  in  the  city  high  school.  From  that  time  until  his 
graduation  from  the  law  department  of  Moscow  University, 
at  the  age  of  twenty-six,  Andreyeff  suffered  greatly  from 
lack  of  means,  and  three  times  he  was  led  by  discouragement 
to  attempt  suicide.  In  childhood  and  youth  he  manifested 
some  aptitude  for  drawing  and  painting.  Indeed,  he  sup- 
ported himself  in  part  during  his  university  career  in  Petro- 
grad  and  Moscow  by  painting  portraits,  but,  owing  to  lack  of 
proper  instruction,  such  endowments  as  he  possessed  in  this 
line  remained  undeveloped.  From  childhood  he  was  an  in- 
satiable reader,  and  at  an  early  age  he  had  read  all  the 
Russian  classics  and  such  foreign  authors  as  had  been  trans- 
lated into  his  native  tongue.  In  1897  he  attempted  the 
practice  of  law,  but,  meeting  with  no  success  and  apparently 
possessing  no  aptitude  for  the  profession,  he  turned  to  news- 
paper reporting  and  later  to  feuilleton  writing  for  the  Moscow 
Courier.  A  number  of  these  early  sketches  are  republished 
in  collected  editions  of  his  works.  Since  1898  he  has  devoted 
himself  exclusively  to  literature,  residing  first  in  Moscow  and 
later  in  Petrograd.  In  1906,  finding  the  distractions  of  8 
large  city  too  serious  an  impediment  to  his  literary  work,  1 


viii  BIOGRAPHICAL  NOTE 

built  a  country  home  on  a  picturesque  site  at  Terioki,  a  much- 
frequented  summer  resort  in  Finland.  As  Terioki  is  only 
thirty  miles  by  rail  from  Petrograd,  AndreyefP  here  enjoys 
to  a  large  extent  the  advantages  of  both  country  and  city. 
Andreyeff  has  steadily  refused  to  take  an  active  part  in  the 
political  life  of  his  day  and  has  never  allied  himself  with  any 
party,  believing  that  party  creeds  and  dogmas  are  incom- 
patible with  the  freedom  of  art. 

Very  near  the  beginning  of  Andreyeff's  literary  career  one 
of  his  stories  attracted  the  attention  of  Gorki,  who  was  at 
that  time  at  the  height  of  his  fame,  and  who  lent  AndreyefiF 
much  encouragement  and  assistance.  In  1901  AndreyefiF 
suddenly  became  famous  through  the  publication  of  a  small 
volume  of  stories  which  dealt  with  certain  vital  problems  of 
Russian  society.  Since  that  time  his  writings  have  been  ex- 
ceedingly popular.  His  plays  have  been  enthusiastically  re- 
ceived and  have  had  long  runs  in  the  theatres,  while  the 
printed  editions  of  his  works  have  been  rapidly  exhausted. 
An  edition  of  eighteen  thousand  copies  of  "King  Hunger," 
for  example,  was  sold  out  in  a  single  day.  Notwithstanding 
the  intense  interest  with  which  his  writings  have  been  re- 
ceived, it  has  been  his  lot  to  awaken  some  resentment  and 
even  indignation,  and  to  call  forth  storms  of  adverse  criticism 
in  some  quarters.  In  this  respect  his  fate  has  been  the  fate 
of  Tolstoi  and  most  other  great  Russian  writers,  and  the 
opposition  to  him  is  accounted  for  in  the  same  manner.  As 
a  critic  of  society  Andreyeff  is  interested  not  in  the  outer 
events  of  life,  but  _in_character.  Consequently  his  writings 
are  devoted  exclusively  to  the  revelation  of  certain  qualities 
of  men's  minds  and  hearts.  His  pictures  of  the  evils  of  Rus- 
sian society  are  so  vivid  and  the  implied  censures  on  society 
o  severe  that,   although  his   merits  have   been  fully  and 

eerfully  acknowledged  by  the  reading  public  as  a  whole. 


BIOGRAPHICAL  NOTE  ix 

a  certain  portion  of  the  public,  blinded  by  passion  or  prejudice, 
refuse  even  to  admit  the  existence  of  the  perverted  mental 
states  which  Andreyeff,  as  a  great  artist  and  prophet,  has  seen 
and  described.  Such  impassioned  attacks,  however,  will  be 
regarded  by  the  sober-minded  as  an  indication  of  the  clear- 
ness of  his  vision,  and  as  a  tribute  to  his  marvellous  descrip- 
tive powers. 


/I 


u 


THE    SYMBOLIC    DRAMAS    OF 
ANDREYEFF 

"The  Life  op  Man/*   "The  Black  Maskers,"   "The 
Sabine  Women"* 

Leonid  Andreyeff,  as  a  dramatist,  is  the  most  interest- 
ing product  of  contemporary  Russian  literature.  Abandon- 
ing the  older  traditions  that  prevailed  from  Ostrovski'^.  to 
Tolstoi,  and  passing  by  the  school  of  Tchekoff,^  he  brought 
to  the  theatre  a  unique  form  of  art,  the  rich  possibilities  of 
which  he  is  still  developing.  In  1913  Andreyeff  published  in 
the  theatrical  journal  Maski  a  "Letter  on  the  Theatre."^ 
This  is  a  "confession  of  faith,"  and  describes  in  detail  its 
author's  conception  not  only  of  the  theatre  of  the  past  but 
also  of  the  theatre  of  the  future,  to  the  latter  of  which  he 
gives  the  new  name  "panpsyche."^  Let  us  see  what  this 
theatre  panpsyche  is,  and  how  Andreyeff  applies  his  theory 
to  his  dramatic  productions. 

With  that  spirit  of  independence  which  has  characterised 
all  great  Russian  writers,  Andreyeff,  disregarding  long-ac- 

» Since  Mr.  Brusyanin,  the  author  of  this  introductory  essay,  is  a  literary  critic 
of  note,  and  at  the  same  time  a  personal  friend  of  Andreyeff,  the  essay  has  the  unique 
value  of  being  an  authoritative  statement  of  Andreyeff's  own  views. 

•  Ostrovski  is  regarded  as  the  founder  of  the  modem  realistic  drama  in  Russia. 
His  literary  career  extended  from  1850  to  1886. 

«It  is  interesting  to  note  that  the  plays  of  Andreyeff  were  staged  by  the  same 
Moscow  theatre  which  introduced  Tchekoff  to  the  public. 

«  Republished  in  1914  in  the  Almenakh  Shipovnik  along  with  another  letter  on  the 
same  subject. 

•LiteraUy,  "all  soul,"  or  "aU  thought." 

I  zi 


xii    SYMBOLIC  DRAMAS  OF  ANDREYEFF 

cepted  traditions  even  now  generally  regarded  as  essential, 
asks  point-blank  the  heretical  question:  "/*  action,  in  the 
accepted  sense  of  movements  and  visible  achievements  on  the  stage, 
necessary  to  the  theatre?'*  In  his  opinion  it  is  not  neces- 
sary, inasmuch  as  modern  life  itself  in  its  most  tragic  as- 
pects tends  to  withdraw  farther  and  farther  from  external 
activities  and  deeper  and  deeper  into  the  recesses  of  the 
soul,  into  the  silence  and  outward  calm  that  characterises 
mental  life.  From  this  answer  to  his  question  one  may  see 
how  far  the  theatre  panpsyche  will  depart  from  the  older 
theatre  of  Shakespeare,  Sardou,  Dumas,  and  other  foreign 
dramatists,  and  even  from  the  Russian  schools  that  de- 
veloped out  of  Ostrovski's  art.^  In  this  respect  Andreyeff 
is  closely  akin  to  Maeterlinck,  in  whose  plays  dramatic  col- 
lisions are  not  marked  by  external  action,  but  the  problems 
that  characterise  the  life  of  the  soul,  with  its  premonitions, 
its  yearnings,  and  searchings,  are  brought  in  concrete  form 
before  the  footlights. 

To  illustrate  his  views,  Andreyeff  draws  an  interesting 
contrast  between  the  lives  of  two  men  of  widely  different  -ages 
and  widely  divergent  ethical  views,  Benvenuto  Cellini  and 
Friedrich  Nietzsche.  In  reading  the  memoirs  of  Cellini, 
Andreyeff  was  struck  by  the  large  number  of  events  in  the 
life  of  the  mediaeval  artist  and  adventurer.  *'How  many 
escapes,  murders,  surprises,  losses  and  unexpected  discov- 
eries, loves  and  enmities  !'*  exclaims  Andreyeff.  "Cellini  en- 
counters more  events  in  a  short  walk  from  his  home  to  the 
outskirts  of  the  city  than  the  average  modern  man  does  in 
his  entire  life.  Cellini's  life  was  a  counterpart  of  the  life  of 
his  day,  with  its  brigands,  monks,  dukes,  swords,  and  man- 
dolins.   In  those  days  interest  attached  only  to  a  life  that 

» All  the  plays  of  Ostrovski  are  marked  by  conspicuous  external  action,  which  is 
often  prejudicial  to  dramatic  truth  and  inconsistent  with  the  princirle  of  realism. 


SYMBOLIC  DRAMAS  OF  ANDREYEFF   xiU 

was  full  of  events,  continually  active  and  achieving,  whereas 
a  life  of  inactivity  was  like  a  clod  lying  by  the  roadside,  of 
which  there  is  nothing  notable  to  be  said.  Cellini's  life  is  a 
personification  of  the  older  theatre.  Read  any  of  the  older 
dramatists,  observe  any  contemporary  actor  of  the  older 
school,  and  you  will  realise  how  much  there  is  of  Cellini  in 
them." 

In  contrast  with  this,  AndreyefiP  conceives  the  new  theatre 
as  the  place  for  the  bodying  forth  of  such  intensely  dramatic 
experiences  as  those  of  Nietzsche.  "Where  in  Nietzsche's 
life,"  asks  Andreyeff,  "are  there  events,  activities,  physical 
achievements  ?  In  his  early  manhood,  while  he  was  a  Prus- 
sian soldier,  and  was  still  to  a  certain  extent  a  man  of  action, 
he  was  in  the  least  degree  a  dramatist.  The  real  drama  of 
his  life  begins  just  at  the  time  when  his  life  withdraws  into  the 
silence  and  inactivity  of  the  study.  It  is  there  that  we  find 
the  painful  re-evaluation  of  all  values,  the  tragical  struggle, 
the  break  with  Wagner,  and  the  charming  Zarathustra!" 

The  contemporary  drama,  says  Andreyeff,  has  shown  it- 
self powerless  to  represent  the  drama  of  Nietzsche.  In  the 
presence  of  the  spiritual  and  intellectual  conflict  it  is  speech- 
less. "Humbly  bowing  before  the  immutable  law  of  action, 
the  contemporary  drama  declines  to  represent — indeed,  can- 
not represent  for  us — a  Nietzsche,  who  is  so  near,  so  im- 
portant, so  essential  to  our  lives,  but  continues  to  offer  us 
in  profusion  empty,  antiquated,  and  unnecessary  Cellinis, 
with  their  paraphernalia  of  tin  swords,  etc."  Andreyeff  ex- 
plains the  crisis  of  the  obsolete  theatre  of  to-day  by  the  fact 
that  life  itself  has  withdrawn  into  the  inner  recesses  of  the 
soul,  whereas  the  theatre  has  paused  at  the  threshold  of 
these  new  and  profound  psychological  experiences  and  in- 
t-ellectual  strivings — the  struggle  of  man's  thoughts  with 
man — and  has  never  thrown  open  the  door  that  leads  to  them. 


^m 


xiv   SYMBOLIC  DRAMAS  OF  ANDREYEFF 

In  anticipation  of  the  objections  of  his  critics,  Andreyefi 
asserts  that  he  does  not  in  the  least  mean  that  events  have 
ceased  to  occur,  that  people  have  ceased  to  act,  or  that  his- 
tory has  ceased  its  forward  movement.  The  chronicle  of 
current  events  is  still  sufficiently  replete  with  suicides,  strife, 
and  war,  but  all  these  events  in  their  outward  aspects  havij 
fallen  in  dramatic  value.  Life  has  become  more  psycholog- 
ical. In  the  place  of  the  older  passions  and  the  traditional 
heroes  of  the  drama,  love  and  hunger,  there  has  arisen  a  ne\^ 
protagonist,  the  intellect.  Not  love,  nor  hunger,  nor  ambi- 
tion, but  thought  in  its  sufferings,  joys,  and  struggles,  is  th(^ 
true  hero  of  the  life  of  to-day.  To  it  therefore  is  due  the 
first  place  in  the  drama.  Indeed,  Andreyeff  has  gone  so  far 
as  to  entitle  his  last  drama  "Thought";  and  if  we  examine 
into  the  plays  which  he  wrote  at  the  beginning  of  his  dramatic 
career,  "The  Life  of  Man,"  and  "The  Black  Maskers,"  wt 
shall  find  in  them  the  same  content. 

MaUy  who  is  the  hero  of  "The  Life  of  Man,"  and  Ldrenzo^ 
the  principal  character  in  "The  Black  Maskers,"  are^botK 
victims  of  the  tragedy  of  their  intellect,  of  their  obstinate 
questionings  in  the  realm  of  thought,  and  their  disenchant- 
ments  in  the  sphere  of  the  emotions — the  love  of  life,  the  lov( 
of  people,  the  love  of  themselves..  In  "The  Life  of  Man' 
some  fate,  embodied  in  the  Being  in  Grey,  held  in  his  hands  the 
candle,  the  emblem  of  life,  and  directed  the  thoughts  of  Man 
from  behind  his  mysterious  veil.  Herein  lies  the  whole 
tragedy  of  Man  and  Lorenzo.  From  poverty  and  sorrov 
Man  rises  to  wealth  and  happiness,  and  it  would  appear  that, 
with  such  powerful  spiritual  weapons  as  the  intellect  and  tlif 
soul  he  might  easily  fortify  his  position.  Howe\er,  th< 
Being  in  Grey  turns  out  to  be  stronger  than  Man,  with  hi  • 
intellect  and  soul,  with  his  thoughts  and  his  conduti  of  life> 
Herein  lies  the  drama  of  Many  whose  life  has  become  ai 


SYMBOLIC  DRAMAS  OF  ANDREYEV 

xvii 
"inner"  life,  while  the  outward  events  become  non-essentu 

mere  unavoidable  details.  Duke  Lorenzo  was  also  strong  as 
far  as  the  external  factors  of  wealth  and  power  were  con- 
cerned. Yet  his  restless  thoughts,  and  in  particular  the  one 
persistently  recurring  thought  that  he  was  not  Duke  Lorenzo, 
but  only  the  son  of  his  motl\er  and  a  stable-man,  gave  rise 
to  an(^inner,  spiritual  drama,  which  overwhelmed  the  man 
Lorenzo  who  is  hidden  behind  the  duke  Lorenzo.  Lorenzo 
thus  slew  his  double,  but  he  3id  noFcome  out  victorious  over 
the  Being  in  Grey.  Nothing  in  his  life  was  changed  for  the 
better.  In  his  mind  people  took  on  the  appearance  of  mask- 
ers, of  being  other  than  they  really  were;  all  objects  in 
the  world  were  masked  and  false;  even  his  own  thoughts 
became  disguised  in  masks.  The  whole  world  was  merely 
the  delusion  of  Duke  Lorenzo^  who  moved  about  the  earth  in 
an  eternal  mask.  Both  Man  and  Lorenzo  are  the  victims' 
not  df  outward  conditions,  but  of  their  own  inner  experiences. 
It  is  only  on  the  basis  of  this  general  theory  of  the  modern 
theatre  that  we  can  understand  either  "The  Life  of  Man" 
or  **The  Black  Maskers."  But  once  having  accepted  this 
theofy  we  see  how  baseless  are  the  contentions  of  AndreyeflF's 
critics.     They  condemn  the  external  form  of  such  plays  as 

'The  Life  of  Man,"  which  Russian  society  had  universally 
understood,  appreciated,  and  approved.  In  framing  a  play 
with  a  new  kind  of  content,  Andreyeff  instinctively  selected 

lew  puter  forms  to  correspond.  These  forms,  though  intelli- 
gible to  the  public,  were  incomprehensible  to  the  critics, 
reared,  as  they  have  been  for  decades,  on  the  dramatic  forms 
of  Oitrovski's  school. 

Gsnsistent  with  the  alterations  that  have  taken  place  in 
the  tirama,  Andreyeff  calls  the  old  theatre  the  theatre  of 
"maLKe-believe,"  as  distinguished  from  the  theatre  panpsyche, 
which  he  calls  the  theatre  of  the  truth.     He  goes  even  farther 


xiv  r:ymbolic  dramas  of  andreyeff 

ad  aflSrms  that  the  motto  of  all  future  art  will  be  "truth  in 
art."  When  the  modern  "psychological'*  novelist  or  dram- 
atist brings  his  heroes  on  the  stage,  are  they  the  product 
of  the  **play  of  his  fancy"?  asks  Andreyeff.  "No,"  he  re- 
plies, "he  experiences  them,  lives  them,  creates  them,  fash- 
ions them,  any  word  you  choose;  only  do  not  use  the  word 
*play.'"  For  play  is  something  entirely  different  and  dis- 
tinct from  the  artistic  process  of  creating  new  beings,  which  u 
the  basis  of  the  dramatist-psychologist's  art.  Play  is  pre- 
tence; and  the  more  refined,  cunning,  and  beautiful,  the 
better  it  is  as  play :  but  psychological  creating  is  truth;  and 
the  plainer,  the  more  sincere,  the  more  severe  it  is,  and  tht* 
farther  it  is  removed  from  pretence,  so  much  greater  will  bo 
its  artistic  value. 

"The  Life  of  Man,"^  when  staged,  was  condemned  by  the 
critics  on  the  ground  of  excessive  symbolism  and  allegory.' 
The  author,  paying  as  he  did  scant  heed  to  the  details  or 
daily  life  that  surround  the  hero  of  the  play  and  his  wife 
concentrated  all  his  attention  on  the  conception  of  Men 
and  the  life  of  Man.  The  symbolism  employed  is  very  old 
and  familiar — patent,  in  fact — and  is  a  minor  element  in  th< 
drama.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  this  method  of  picturing  humai 
life  has  long  been  current  among  the  masses  of  the  Russiar 
people.  They  picture  life  either  as  a  candle  which  blazer 
up  through  some  mysterious  power  and  finally  goes  out,  or 
in  the  form  of  steps,  represented  in  a  crudely  drawn  picture' 
in  which  man  is  depicted  from  birth  till  death.    In  the  first 

»  "The  Life  of  Man,"  published  in  1906,  was  the  first  symbolic  drama  written  id 
Russia.  Later  followed  Andreyeff 's  symbolic  dramas,  "Bling  Hunger"  (the  represen 
tation  of  which  was  forbidden  by  the  censor),  "The  Black  Maskers,"  "Anatema' 
(which  was  taken  from  the  stage  on  petition  of  the  Moscow  clergy),  and  "The  Ocean,' 
which,  owing  to  technical  difficulties  of  inscenation,  was  never  staged. 

» To  appreciate  the  force  of  the  above  criticism  the  reader  must  recall  that  for  about 
s  century  the  Russian  public  has  been  accustomed  to  read  only  the  most  realisti; 
form  of  literature. 


SYMBOLIC  DKaMAS  OF  ANDREYEFF    xvii 

half  of  life — till  middle  age — he  mounts  to  the  summit,  then 
begins  to  descend  the  stairs,  and  finally  he  reaches  old  age 
and  his  predestined  end — death.  It  is  this  crude  popular 
conception  that  Andreyeff  takes  as  the  basis  of  his  symbolism; 
and  this  selection  of  a  basal  motive  from  the  life  of  the  com- 
mon people  is  that  very  truth  in  art  of  which  Andreyeff 
speaks,  for  behind  this  picture  lies  the  deeply  rooted  faith  of 
the  people  in  life,  and  in  Fate  as  the  guide  of  life. 

The  Man  whom  Andreyeff  depicts  is  an  extreme  individual- 
ist whose  whole  life  is  centred  upon  himself  and  his  own  in- 
terests, who  judges  all  other  persons  and  all  things  from  the 
point  of  view  of  his  own  personality.  He  has  made  himself 
the  centre  of  the  universe.  Nor  in  this  case  is  fate  a  mere 
subjective  principle  holding  sway  over  man.  It  is  some- 
thing entirely  different.  Professor  Reisner,  in  his  work  en- 
titled "Andreyeff  and  His  Philosophy  of  Life,'*  says  on  this 
point:  "Once  man  has  become  the  foundation  of  social  life, 
all  connecting  boundaries  and  points  of  contact  heretofore  ex- 
isting between  him  and  nature  disappear.  He  is  not  merely 
left  in  isolation,  but  about  him  is  formed  a  desert — a  vast,  so- 
cial chasm,  and  the  great  principle  called  the  law  of  life  now 
has  no  means  of  coming  into  contact  with  the  naked  indi- 
vidual. When  this  stage  has  been  reached,  principles  of 
law  and  order  can  find  justification  only  from  the  point  of 
view  of  the  individual.  As  soon  as  the  individual  has  be- 
come the  unit  of  society,  and  the  centre  of  all  interests,  the 
aims  of  this  unit  must  be  accepted  by  it  as  the  aims  of  the 
universe,  its  reason  must  be  accepted  as  the  world  reason, 
and  with  it  the  fate  of  the  universe  is  bom  and  perishes. 
But  if  the  individual  cannot  thus  establish  a  direct  bond 
between  his  per^on^l  existence  and  the  law  of  nature,  there 
results  the  great  tragedy:   PersonaJUyyenoimces  the  world.** 

Man,  the  hero  of  "T'le  Life  of  Man,"  failed  from  the  very 


xviii    SYMBOLIC  DRAMAS  OF  ANDREYEFF 

first  to  establish  this  bond.  In  his  earlier  years  of  poverty 
he  found  the  meaning  of  life  in  the  struggle  for  existence,  in 
dreams  of  wealth,  distinction,  and  fame.  He  dreamed  even 
of  becoming  recognised  as  a  genius.  But  his  dreams  all 
ended  in  selfish  visions  of  a  wonderful  villa  on  the  Norwegian 
coast,  where  on  stormy  winter  nights  he  and  his  wife  might 
find  rest  and  repose  in  the  cheery  warmth  of  the  huge  fire- 
place "that  burned  whole  logs."  In  the  ball  of  Man  the 
hero  reaches  the  summit  of  life.  Observe  the  feeling  of  dig- 
nified self-importance  with  which  Man  enters  the  presence 
of  his  guests,  his  wife  leaning  upon  his  arm.  He  is  rich  and 
famous.  His  guests  are  filled  with  admiration  for  the  wealth 
aiid  luxury  of  his  life,  and  for  his  wide-spread  fame.  But 
listen !  The  strains  of  the  polka,  hollow  and  empty,  the 
insipid,  soulless  dance  of  the  guests  and  their  petty  remarks 
reveal  all  the  tragedy  of  the  petty  and  empty  life  of  this 
richest  and  most  famous  of  men — the  profound  tragedy  that 
lies  in  the  solitude  of  Man  and  in  the  solitude  of  each  and 
every  one  of  his  guests.  The  egoistic  laws  of  life  followed  by 
the  Friends  and  the  Enemies  of  Man  hang  like  a  pall  over 
the  empty  but  ominous  h^L  Like  evil  forebodings  on  the 
eve  of  death,  they  reveal ^^jie  vanity  of  human  life.  In 
the  ball  of  Man,  which  sums  up  the  entire  life  of  both  Men 
and  his  guests,  one  does  not  feel  the  presence  of  the  great 
cosmic  bond  between  man  and  the  laws  of  the  universe;  but 
the  laws  that  guide  the  base  Friends  and  Enemies  of  Man 
have  brought  together  here  the  doomed,  and  among  them  the 
chief  of  the  doomed,  Man  himself,  proud,  noted,  and  wealthy; 
while  in  the  background,  seeming  to  be  a  part  even  of  the 
grey  wall,  is  the  Being  in  Grey  (whether  God,  Fate,  or  the 
Devil,  Man  himself  knows  not),  invisible  and  frightful  in 
his  coldness  and  indifference,  following  persistently  every 
step  of  Man's  life — the  Being  in  Grey,  in  whose  hand  is  burji- 


SYMBOLIC  DRAMAS  OF  ANDREYEFF    xix 

ing — burning  out — the  candle  that  symbolises  the  meaningV 
of  the  life  of  this  man  who  has  failed  to  establish  a  bond  be-  \ 
tween  his  personal  existence  and  the  laws  of  nature.  The 
beginning  and  the  end  of  his  life  are  concealed  in  darkness. 
"Dragged  on  irresistibly  by  time,  he  will  tread  inevitably  all 
the  steps  of  human  life,  upward  toward  its  summit  and 
downward  to  its  end."  ^  Still  more  definitely  the  Being  in 
Grey  speaks  of  the  meaning  of  the  life  of  Man:  "Limited  in 
vision,  he  will  not  see  the  step  to  which  his  unsure  foot 
is  already  raising  him.  Limited  in  knowledge,  he  will  never 
know  what  the  coming  day  or  hour  or  moment  is  bringing 
to  him.  And  in  his  blind  ignorance,  worn  by  apprehensions, 
harassed  by  hopes  and  fears,  he  will  complete  submissively 
the  iron  round  of  destiny." 

The  "iron  round  of  destiny"  is  the  tragedy  of  Man,  condi- 
tioned by  the  strife  between  the  intellect  and  the  emotions, 
with  its  attendant  sufferings  and  joys  m  the  case  of  a  man 
whose  strivings  toward  harmony  and  order  are  doomed  to 
clash  with  the  primeval  chaos. ^ 

The  tragedy  of  Lorenzo  in  "The  Black  Maskers"  is  of  the  y 
same  sort.  "My  soul  is  an  a^ianted  castle.  When  the  ^ 
sun  shines  into  the  lofty  wUffws,  with  its  golden  rays  it 
weaves  golden  dreams.  When  the  sad  moon  looks  into  the 
misty  windows,  in  its  silvery  beams  are  silvery  dreams,"  says 
Lorenzo  of  his  own  inner  experiences.  Yet  in  the  midst  of 
his  dreams  Lorenzo  continually  asks  the  question:  "Who 
laughs  ?  Who  laughs  so  gently  at  the  sorrowful  life  of  Lo- 
renzo.'*" Such  were  also  the  dreams  of  Man  and  his  wife, 
when  their  distress  was  soothed  for  a  moment  by  prayer, 
and  when  for  a  time  they  had  faith  in  the  Being  in  Grey. 
**Many  flattered  by  his  hopes,  has  fallen  into  a  deep  and 

'  See  Prologue. 

'  Thia  definition  of  life  is  given  by  Andreyeff  in  the  study  published  variously  under 
the  titles  "My  Diary"  and  "Our  Prison." 


XX     SYMBOLIC  DRAMAS  OF  ANDREYEFF 

grateful  sleep.  ...  He  dreams  that  he  is  riding  with  his  son 
in  a  white  boat  over  a  beautiful  smooth  river.  .  .  .  He  hears 
the  reeds  rustle  as  they  part  before  the  boat.  He  is  filled 
with  joy  and  he  fancies  that  he  is  blessed.  All  Man's  emo- 
tions are  deceiving  him.  But  suddenly  he  becomes  restless. 
The  terrible  truth,  penetrating  the  dense  veil  of  his  dreams, 
has  seared  his  thought:  'Why  is  your  golden  hair  cut  so 
short,  my  boy;  why  is  it?'  'My  head  ached,  father,  and 
that  is  why  my  hair  was  cut  so  short.'  And,  again  deceived, 
man  is  happy,  and  he  sees  the  blue  sky  and  hears  the  reeds 
rustling  as  they  part."  ^  At  the  very  moment  when  in  sleep 
his  thoughts  joyously  take  wing,  misfortune  draws  close  to 
him;  while  he  sleeps  and  in  his  visions  finds  rest  and  respite 
from  the  iron  round  of  destiny,  his  son  is  already  dead;  so 
awaking  from  his  dreams  he  has  no  course  left  but  to  curse 
the  Being  in  Grey.  Of  this  Being  Man  begs  not  for  mercy  or 
for  pity,  but  "only  for  justice."  To  this  same  being  Lorenzo 
turns  with  the  prayer:  "Who  laughs?  Who  laughs  so 
frightfully  at  the  insane  Lorenzo?  Have  pity  on  me,  O 
Monarch!  My  soul  is  filled  with  terror!  O  Monarch,  O 
Lord  of  the  World! — Satan!"  Man  asks  no  longer  for 
mercy,  but  only  for  justice;  Lorenzo  still  believes  in  mercy, 
and  asks  for  pity.  Why  the  diflFerence  ?  Is  not  the  trage  iy 
of  their  lives  the  same?  The  author  himself  answers  the 
question  by  the  entire  subject-matter  of  these  similar  yet 
different  plays.  The  soul  of  Man,  though  tortured,  still  re- 
mains intact  in  the  presence  of  the  Being  in  Grey,  and  he 
perishes  cursing  the  blind  power  of  Fate;  but  the  soul  of 
Lorenzo  is  rent  in  twain  and  his  tragedy  is  the  more  intense, 
because  Fate,  Destiny,  God,  or  the  devil  is  transformed  from 
a  vague  primordial  being  into  the  double  of  the  duke  Lorenzo, 
In  "The  Life  of  Minai"  fate  appears  in  the  form  of  an  objective 
»  "The  Life  of  Man,"  Act  IV, 


\ 


SYMBOLIC  DRAMAS  OF  ANDREYEFF    xxi 

principle,  a  power  outside  of  man;  in  **The  Black  Maskers'* 
this  same  fate  has  entered,  as  it  were,  into  the  flesh  and 
blood  of  LorenzOy  has  become  a  part  of  his  essence,  that  is, 
it  has  become  subjective  in  the  fullest  sense  of  the  word. 
Lorenzo  considered  his  life  good  and  beautiful,  but  having 
invited  his  masked  guests  to  his  ball  he  discovered  the  false-        . 
ness  of  his  life.     In  the  place  of  one  wife  he  saw  three;  in  the     / 
place  of  one  Duke  Lorenzo  he  suddenly  encountered  at  the       / 
ball  his  double.     Then  appeared  also  the  black  maskers,  the     ^ 
personification  of  the  darkness  of  life  and  the  mysterious  dark     "^    >  ju 
instincts  of  man.     At  this  point  began  a  new  life  for  Lorenzo,  ^'^^V 
and  he  himself  became  new,  that  is,  demented.     With  his 
doubt  as  to  his  parentage — whether  he  was  the  son  of  his 
father  or  of  a  filthy  stable-man,  his  mother's  paramour — 
began  the  dark,  insane  life  of  Lorenzo,  and  he  perished  in 
darkness  and  was  burned  in  his  castle,  which  was  set  on  fire^^ 
by  the  jester. 

In  the  midst  of  the  storm  of  adverse  criticism — including 
such  characterisation  as  "unheard-of  horrors,"  "disregard 
of  real  life,"  "excessive  symbolism" — that  greeted  the  firsts 
appearance  of  "The  Black  Maskers"  at  the  theatre  of  Ko- 
misarzhevskaia,  in  1908,  very  few  critics  succeeded  in  making 
any  close  approach  to  a  true  interpretation  of  the  drama, 
either  in  its  subject-matter  or  its  form.  Yet  all  were  intensely 
interested,  and  throngs  of  "interviewers"  made  their  way 
to  Andreyeff,  at  his  country  home  in  Finland,  to  learn  what 
he  intended  in  this  drama  to  represent.  The  author,  of 
course,  found  it  impossible  to  explain  his  own  creation,  but 
eagerly  discussed  the  symbolic  form  of  this  and  other  plays. 
"Critics  are  a  strange  people,"  said  AndreyeflF  to  one  of  his 
interviewers.  "They  wonder  why  I  write  certain  things  in  a 
peculiar  style.  The  explanation  is  very  simple:  every  work 
•should  be  written  in  the  style  which  it  demands.     'King 


xxii    SYMBOLIC  DRAMAS  OF  ANDREYEFF 

Hunger'  could  not  be  written  without  symbolism;  *The 
Seven  who  were  Hanged'  could  be  written  only  in  realistic 
tones.  Tchekoff — the  dear,  delightful,  sensitive  Tchekoff, 
who  was  always  so  cautious  and  considerate  in  his  utterances 
— finding  himself  once  in  a  circle  of  intimate  friends  and  hear- 
ing the  name  of  Ibsen  mentioned,  blurted  out:  'Ibsen's  a 
fool!'  If  Tchekoff  did  not  understand  Ibsen's  symbolism, 
could  not  grasp  it,  shall  I  be  offended  when  the  critics  assail 
my  writings  ?  Eleven  years  have  past  since  I  published  my 
first  story.  For  ten  years  I  have  written  as  I  felt.  I  am  not 
the  slave  of  either  symbolism  or  realism,  but  they  are  my 
servants — now  the  one,  now  the  other,  according  to  my 
theme.  In  the  future  also  I  must  continue  to  write  as  I  am 
able."  Not  confining  himself  to  the  elucidation  of  the  outer 
forms  of  his  dramas,  Andreyeff  gives  a  direct  key  to  the  under- 
standing of  his  "Black  Maskers"  in  "My  Diary,"  published 
in  1908,  two  or  three  months  before  the  writing  of  "The  Black 
Maskers."  The  hero  of  that  sketch,  an  old  man  who  has 
been  immured  in  a  prison  since  early  manhood,  writes  in 
his  diary:  "Every  man,  as  I  afterward  came  to  see  and 
understand,  was  like  that  rich  and  distinguished  gentleman 
who  arranged  a  gorgeous  masquerade  in  his  castle  and  illumi- 
nated his  castle  with  lights;  and  thither  came  from  far  and 
wide  strange  masks,  whom  he  welcomed  with  courteous 
greetings,  though  ever  with  the  vain  inquiry :  *  Who  are  you  ?  * 
And  new  masks  arrived  ever  stranger  and  more  horrible." 
To  this  description  the  prisoner  adds,  as  a  foot-note  to  bis 
diary:  "The  castle  is  the  soul;  the  lord  of  the  castle  is  man, 
the  master  of  the  soul;  the  strange,  black  maskers  are  the 
powers  whose  field  of  action  is  the  soul  of  man,  and  whose 
mysterious  nature  he  can  never  fathom."  These  beings 
bring  into  the  soul  darkness  and  death,  extinguishing  the 
light  of  life.     The  "simple"  maskers,  the  guests  of  Loren.  a. 


SYMBOLIC  DRAMAS  OF  ANDREYEFF    xxiii 


are  ordinary  people;  yet  even  these  are  transformed  and  lose 
their  real  semblances  and,  like  the  black  maskers,  they  be- 
come mysterious,  incomprehensible,  and  terrifying  to  Lorenzo, 
who  fails  to  understand  them  as  he  fails  to  understand  his 
own  soul.  Lorenzo^s  mind  becomes  clouded,  his  own  soul 
becomes  repulsive  to  him,  he  seems  strange  to  himself. 
Though  he  longs  to  accept  his  own  soul  as  his  own,  yet  the 


ugliness,  the  repulsiveness 
checks  his  resolve  to  do  s^ 
' — Lorenzo  becomes  two 
double — his  horrible,  dis 
with  anger  he  draws  his 
canny   scene   in  which 
VLorenzo  come  to  bid 
duke,  while  the  duke 
shadow  at  the  hes 
the  cold  corpse  of 


that  which  he  sees  within  it 

d  his  soul  becomes  two  souls 

20;?.     Before  him  he  sees  his 

g,  false  double — and  incensed 

I  and  slays  it.     Recall  the  un- 

servants,  friends,  and  wife  of 

well  to  the  remains  of  the  dead 

If — his  other  half — stands  in  the 

the  bier  and  observes  how  they  greet 

elf.     The  duality  of  soul,  the  duality 


of  personality,  has^d  to  the  final  tragedy  of  the  duke — 
insanity. 

But  at  this  poijMthe  author  willed  that  a  new  transforma- 
tion of  Lorenzo  mhould  occur.  When  the  castle,  fired  by 
EccOy  the  jesteims  in  flames,  Lorenzo,  falling  upon  his  knees, 
calls  upon  all^resent  to  pay  homage  to  the  being  who  is 
now  revealed  Jo  his  soul,  darkened  though  it  be  by  insanity. 
"Uncover,  gAtlemen;  it  is  the  Lord  God, the  Ruler  of  heaven 
and  earth.  «3n  your  knees,  knights  and  ladies!"  But  one 
conclusion^n  logically  be  drawn.  Lorenzo,  passing  through 
this  dualiB^  of  personality  and  slaying  his  double,  i.  e.,  re- 
nouncm^ne  dark  and  evil  elements  of  his  soul,  has  attained 
to  the  Aiowledge  of  God  and  perishes  at  the  moment  of 
attaini 

the  general  inference  to  be  drawn   from  the  two 
pla:^    Man  in  Audrey eflF's  view  is  in  the  hands  of  fate; 


xxiv    SYMBOLIC  DRAMAS  OF  ANDREYEFF 

whether  it  appears  as  the  effect  upon  him  of  his  environment, 
or  manifests  itself  in  the  joys,  sorrows,  temptations,  doubts, 
an^d  struggles  of  man  with  his  rejoicing,  sorrowing,  aspiring, 
doubting,  struggling  soul.  Man  is,  as  it  were,  condemned  to 
/inevitable  suffering,  and  only  through  suffering  can  he  hope 
to  attain  to  perfection.  Such  was  the  case  of  Duke  Lorenzo y 
whose  death  brought  him  a  vision  of  God.  In  this  sense 
Andreyeff  resembles  Tolstoi  and  Dostoevski.  The  former 
called  upon  man  to  achieve  perfection  through  suffering;  the 
latter  admonished  man  to  reject  the  problems  of  personality 
for  the  sake  of  perfection.  But  Andreyeff  differs  from  both 
Tolstoi  and  Dostoevski.  Recall  how  the  hero  of  "The  Life 
of  Man,"  despairing  of  his  personal  welfare,  curses  the  in- 
visible Being  who  directs  the  life  of  man:  "I  know  not  who 
you  are,  God,  the  devil.  Fate,  or  Life,  but  I  curse  you  !  I 
curse  all  that  you  have  given  me  !  I  curse  the  day  on  v,  hich 
I  was  born !  I  curse  the  day  on  which  I  shall  die !  I  curse 
my  whole  life,  my  joys  and  my  grief!  I  curse  myself!  I 
curse  my  eyes,  my  ears,  my  tongue !  I  curse  my  heart,  my 
head !  And  I  hurl  all  back  into  your  cruel  face,  senseless  Fate ! 
Be  accursed,  be  accursed  forever !  Through  my  curse  I  rise 
victorious  above  you.  What  more  can  you  do  with  me? 
Hurl  me  upon  the  ground;  yes,  hurl  me  down  !  I  shall  only 
laugh  and  cry  out:  'Be  accursed!'  .  .  .  Over  the  head  of 
the  woman  you  have  offended,  over  the  body  of  the  boy 
whom  you  have  killed,  I  hurl  upon  you  the  curse  of  Man." 
Duke  Lorenzo,  whose  timid  soul  is  rent  in  twain,  calls  upon 
us  to  worship  God;  Man,  whose  soul  is  still  intact  and  un- 
reconciled, curses  him  who  directs  both  birth  and  death. 
Such  are  the  fundamental  differences  between  the  two  plays. 
The  third  play  included  in  the  present  volume  differs 
markedly  from  the  other  two  in  its  form,  its  content,  and  its 
purpose  as  conceived  by  Andreyeff.     It  transports  the  author 


SYMBOLIC  DRAMAS  OF  ANDREYEFF    xxv 

from  the  field  of  the  universal  problems  of  life  to  the  particular 
conditions  of  contemporary  political  life  in  Russia.  It  is  a 
satire  on  the  Constitutional-Democratic  party.  This  party 
is  not  "legalised"  in  Russia,  and  is  considered  an  opposition 
party  both  in  the  Duma  and  in  the  country  at  large.  Not- 
withstanding their  repute,  however,  the  "Kadets,"  as  they 
are  called  for  short,  being  composed  of  individuals  represent- 
ing both  progressive  and  conservative  elements  of  society, 
have  a  mixed  character,  which  serves  to  distinguish  them 
from  both  the  socialistic  and  the  populistic  parties.  Natur- 
ally this  dual  character  is  clearly  reflected  in  their  political 
activities. 

Assuming  that  in  general  the  subject-matter  of  the  play 
will  be  clear  to  the  reader,  we  will  limit  ourselves  to  a  few 
explanations  that  will  enable  tKe  reader  to  appreciate  the 
keenness  of  Andreyeff's  satire.  /The  crude  Romans,  the  ab- 
ductors of  the  fair  Sabine  women,  represent  the  Russian 
administration  of  the  period  of  the  reaction.  The  Sabine 
women  are  the  constitutional  "promises"  wrung  from  the 
government  by  the  revolution  of  1905  and  1906.  The 
Sabine  husbands  represent  the  Constitutional-Democratic 
party,  who  strive  by  strictly  legal  methods  to  preserve  these 
promised  constitutional  guarantees.  The  political  programme 
of  the  Kadets  is  especially  satirised  in  the  second  act,  at  the 
point  when  the  injured  husbands  are  preparing  to  march  on 
Rome  to  liberate  their  wives.  Ancus  Martius  instructs  them 
to  march  by  taking  two  steps  forward  and  one  step  back- 
ward. The  two  forward  steps  are  designed  to  indicate  "the 
unquenchable  fire  of  our  stormy  souls,  the  firm  will,  the  irre- 
sistible advance.  The  step  backward  symbolises  the  step 
of  reason,  the  step  of  experience  and  the  mature  mind.  .  .  . 
In  taking  it  we  maintain  a  close  bond  with  tradition,  with 
our  ancestors,  with  our  great  past."    This  is  the  " progressive- 


xxvi    SYMBOLIC  DRAMAS  OF  ANDREYEFF 

conservative"  programme  of  the  Kadets.  They  failed  to 
gain  a  victory  over  their  political  opponents;  or,  if  they  did 
win  a  victory,  it  was  just  such  a  victory  as  that  won  by  the 
Sabines  over  the  Romans. 

In  concluding,  let  us  remind  the  reader  that  our  interpreta- 
tion of  these  three  plays  has  been  very  brief,  as  has  been  also 
our  exposition  of  Andreyeff's  views  on  the  theatre.  We  have 
set  forth  but  a  small  fraction  of  Andreyeff's  rich  contribu- 
tions to  Russian  social  thought.  Above  all,  the  reader 
should  understand  that  Andreyeff  paints  Russian  life  in 
true  colours,  and  to  know  his  warks  is  to  know  contem- 
porary Russia. 

V.  V.  Brusyanin. 
Petrograd, 
October.  1914. 


CONTENTS 

VAQS 

Biographical  Note vii 

The  Symbolic  Dramas  of  Andreyeff,  an  Essay  by 

V.  V.  Brusyanin xi 

The  Black  Maskers 1 

The  Life  of  Man 65 

The  Sabine  Women 157 

Bibliography  of  Andreyeff 197 


THE  BLACK  MASKERS 


CAST    OF    CHARACTERS 

Lorenzo,  Duke  of  Spadaro 

Ecco,  a  jester 

Donna  Francesca,  wife  of  Lorenzo 

SiGNOR  Cristoforo,  Steward  of  the  wine-cellar 

Signor  Petruccio,  overseer 

Gentlemen  and  Ladies  of  the  ducal  suite 

Maskers,  invited  by  the  Duke 

Black  Maskers,  uninvited 

RoMUALDO,  a  singer 

Musicians 

Servants 

Peasants 


ses 


THE   BLACK  MASKERS 
ACT   I 

SCENE    I 

A  luxuriotiSt  newly  decorated  hall  in  an  ancient  feudal  castle. 
The  walls  are  adorned  with  frescoes  and  hung  with  paint- 
ings blackened  with  age.  Here  and  there  are  weapons  and 
statues.  The  whole  room,  though  brilliant  with  gold  and 
with  bright-coloured  mosaics^  is  delicately  tinted  by  light 
falling  through  coloured  glass.  At  the  left  and  in  the 
rear  are  three  semi-Gothic  windows  half  concealed  by 
heavy,  gold-embroidered  curtains.  The  rear  wall,  turn- 
ing back  at  a  right  angle  at  the  centre  of  the  stage,  recedes 
to  a  row  of  paired  columns  which  support  the  upper  part 
of  the  building.  Behind  these  columns  is  a  sjmcious, 
brightly  illuminated  entrance-hall.  Massive  double  en- 
trance-doors are  seen  at  the  right.  Directly  in  front  of 
the  spectator,  at  the  point  where  the  rear  wall  begins  to 
recede,  a  broad  marble  staircase  with  a  massive  sculptured 
balustrade  ascends  to  the  height  of  the  columns,  then, 
turning  to  the  right,  leads  to  other  apartments.  The  wall 
above  the  columns  is  pierced  by  several  small  windows  of 
coloured  glass  through  which  comes  a  peculiar  and  bril- 
liant light. 

The  final,  hasty  preparations  are  going  on  for  a  masquerade 
ball.  The  room  is  flooded  with  light  from  many  chan- 
deliers and  from  strikingly  beautiful  candelabra  and 
3 


ttJl:  BLACK  MASKERS     acti. 


SC.  I 


'Stohi^, '  '[^evfi^qtl  ',9s,r1)ants  in  rich  but  uniform  livery 
hurry  from  place  to  places  lighting  fresh  candles  or 
moving  hack  the  heavy  armchairs  to  give  room  for  the 
dancers.  Every  now  and  then  certain  of  them^  as  if 
recalling  something  left  undone,  rush  upstairs  or  to  the 
entry  doors,  the  firm,  business-like  voice  of  the  overseer, 
SiGNOR  Petruccio,  redoubling  their  haste  and  their  emii- 
lation.  Both  the  overseer  and  the  servants  are  in  high 
spirits,  and  the  latter,  as  they  come  and  go,  exchange 
lively  jests  and  quick,  fleeting  smiles.  The  gayest  of  all, 
however,  is  young  Lorenzo,  the  reigning  Duke  of  Spadaro. 
Well  formed,  refined  of  feature,  a  little  languid  in  manner, 
hut  courteous  and  kindly  toward  every  one,  he  lightly  moves 
about  the  hall,  all  aglow  with  the  joy  of  anticipation, 
giving  orders,  jesting,  and  urging  on  the  servants,  now  with 
cheering  words  and  now  with  gestures  of  feigned  anger. 
As  he  goes  he  casts  happy  smiles  upon  his  young  wife, 
the  beautiful  Donna  Francesca,  who  responds  with 
tender  and  loving  glances.  Several  ladies  and  gentlemen, 
forming  the  suite  of  the  Duke  and  Duchess,  are  also  busily 
engaged,  some,  like  the  young  Duke,  joyfully  and  eagerly 
preparing  for  the  reception  of  the  expected  gu£sts,  others, 
under  cover  of  the  happy  confusion,  exchanging  fond 
glances,  slyly  pressing  one  another's  hands,  and  whisper- 
ing boldly  and  quickly  into  blushing  ears.  In  an  upper 
room  somewhere  musicians  are  milking  ready  for  the 
hall,  and  fragments  of  musical  airs  are  heard.  Suddenly 
some  one  begins  to  sing  in  a  rich  baritone,  but  the  song 
quickly  passes  over  into  laughter.  Apparently,  it  is  jolly 
\  there,  too. 
On  a  rug  before  a  blazing  fire  the  Duke's  dog,  a  huge  Saint 
Bernard,  dozes  in  an  attitude  of  luxurious  abandon. 
Seated  near  the  foot  of  the  stairway,  Ecco,  the  Duke's 


ACT  I.    sc.  I     THE  BLACK  MASKERS  5 

jester^  imitates  the  Duke*s  voice  and  by  his  orders  causes 
laughable  confusion. 

Petruccio.  Keep  up  that  speed  a  little  longer,  Mario, 
and  you'll  be  your  own  grandfather.     Hurry,  man,  hurry ! 

Mario.  Why,  Signor  Petruccio,  the  Duke's  best  horse 
doesn't  get  over  the  ground  as  fast  as  I  do. 

A  Servant.  When  the  flies  sting. 

Another  Servant.  Or  the  whip  flicks. 

Petruccio.  Come !  lively,  there,  lively ! 

Lorenzo.  This  way  !  More  candles  here !  Don't  you  see 
how  dark  this  corner  is?  No  darkness,  Signor  Petruccio, 
no  darkness ! 

A  Gentleman.  [To  a  lady]  There !  They  have  driven  us 
out  of  our  last  refuge.     But  I  shall  kiss  you  yet. 

The  Lady.  In  the  dark  it  will  be  hard  to  find  me. 

The  Gentleman.  In  the  dark  I  shall  spread  my  arms 
wide  and  embrace  the  whole  night. 

Another  Gentleman.  You  will  make  a  rich  haul,  Signor 
Silvio. 

Ecco.  [Calling  out]  Mario !  Carlo !  Pietro !  Quick !  Hold 
a  candle  under  this  gentleman's  nose.  The  darkness  fright- 
ens him  out  of  his  wits. 

Francesca.  [To  the  Duke^  affectionately]  My   dear!  my 
love !  my  divinity !     How  charming  your  new  costume  is !    / 
You  are  like  a  shaft  of  sunlight  flung  through  the  lofty  win-/ 
dow  of  our  cathedral.     Your  divine  beauty  fills  me  with     ^ 
adoration. 

Lorenzo.  You  are  a  delicate  blossom,  Francesca.  You 
are  a  delicate  blossom,  and  the  si^n.  when  it  kisses  you,  is 
overbold.  [He  kisses  her  hand  with  profound  respect  and  ten- 
derness, but  suddenly,  in  mock  terror,  ccdls  to  the  overseer]  But 
the  tower,  Petruccio,  the  tower!    If  you  have  forgotten  to 


/ 


6  THE  BLACK  MASKERS     acti.    sc.  i 

^  illuminate  the  tower  I  will  have  you  impaled  like  an  un- 
baptised  Turk. 

Petruccio.  The  tower  is  illuminated,  sir. 
.      Lorenzo.  Illuminated  '^.    How  dare  you  say  so .''    It  should 
/  blaze,   it   should   sparkle,  it  should   rise   toward  the  dark 
1  heavens  like  a  huge  tongue  of  fire. 

Ecco.  Tut!    Tut!    Lorenzo.     Don't  show  your  tongue 

to  heaven  or  heaven  will  answer  you  with  a  fig. 

^      Lorenzo.  My  dear  little  fellow,  you  mustn't  annoy  me 

(      with  your  jokes.     I  am  looking  forward  to  a  feast  of  light, 

)    and  your  barbed  shafts  wound  me  to  the  soul.     No  darkness, 

'      Ecco,  no  darkness  ! 

Ecco.  Then  you  must  light  up  your  wife's  tresses.  They 
are  too  dark,  Lorenzo,  too  dark.  And  put  a  torch  in  each  of 
her  eyes.     They  are  too  dark,  Lorenzo,  too  dark. 

Francesca.  Wretch !  Here  are  so  many  beautiful  ladies 
— can't  one  of  you  win  the  affections  of  this  miserable 
jester  ? 

First  Lady.  He's  a  hunchback. 

Second  Lady.  If  he  should  try  to  kiss  me,  his  nose  would 
prick  me  like  a  sword. 

Gentleman.  Your  heart,  madam,  would  turn  the  edge 
of  any  sword. 

Enter  a  gentleman^  tall  and  thin  as  a  pole,  the  image  of 
Don  Quixote.    His  moustaches  droop  and  seem  to  he 
continually  wet.     He  turns  gloomily  to  the  Duke. 
Cristoforo.  I  have  a  shocking  piece  of  news  to  impart 
to  you,  Signor. 

Lorenzo.  What  is  it  ^    You  alarm  me,  Signor  Cristoforo. 
Cristoforo.  I  have  reason  to  believe,  sir,  that  we  shall 
run  short  of  both  Cyprian  and  Falernian.     These  gentlemen 
[pointing  with  his  forefinger  to  the  Duke's  attendants]  drink 
wine  as  camels  in  the  desert  drink  water. 


ACT  I.      SC.  I 


THE  BLACK  MASKERS 


One  of  the  Suite.  Signor  Cristoforo,  why  are  your 
moustaches  always  wet? 

Cristoforo.  [With  dignity]  It  is  my  duty,  sir,  to  test  all 
the  wines. 

Lorenzo.  [Cheerfully]  My  good  friend,  you  exaggerate 
the  danger.     Our  cellars  are  inexhaustible. 

Cristoforo.  [Insistently]  They  drink  wine  like  camels. 
Your  happy  mood  pleases  me,  Signor,  but  you  take  things 
too  light-heartedly.  When  your  sainted  father  and  I  set 
out  to  deliver  the  Holy  Sepulchre 

Lorenzo.  [Gently  reproaching  him]  My  dear  old  friend, 
you  surely  are  not  going  to  spoil,  with  your  mumbling  and 
grumbling,  this  delightful  evening. 

Cristoforo.  [Good-naturedly]  Well,  well,  my  boy,  don't 
be  angry.  [Threateningly]  Ho,  there!  Manucci !  Filippo! 
After  me !  [Exit. 

Lorenzo.  But  the  roadway,  Signor  Petruccio !  Heaven 
punish  you  !  The  roadway  !  You  have  forgotten  to  illumi- 
nate the  roadway,  and  our  friends  will  not  be  able  to  find  us. 

Petruccio.  The  roadway  is  illuminated,  Signor. 

Lorenzo.  Illuminated  ?  Your  tongue  is  like  a  jaded  nag. 
When  the  spurs  prick  its  flanks  it  can  only  switch  its  tail. 
The  whole  road  must  sparkle.  It  must  blaze  with  lights 
like  the  road  to  paradise.  Understand  me.  Sir  Overseer. 
The  shades  of  the  cypresses  should  flee  in  terror  to  the 
mountains  where  sleep  the  dragons.  Do  you  lack  torches 
and  helpers  ?     Do  you  lack  kegs  of  pitch  ? 

Ecco.  If  pitch  is  lacking,  Petruccio,  you  had  better  go 
borrow  it  in  hell.  Satan  will  lend  it  to  you  on  your  personal 
security. 

One  of  the  Servants.  He  would  have  fetched  some 
thence  before  this  but  that  he  feared  there  would  not  be 

encigh  left  to  keep  him  warm. 

\ 


8  THE  BLACK  MASKERS     acti.    sc.i 

Second  Servant.  Signor  Petruccio  is  so  chilly. 

Petruccio.  Lively,  there,  lively  ! 

Francesca.  [To  the  Duke]  You  forget  me,  Lorenzo. 
Though  you  light  up  everything,  yet  I,  unless  you  smile 
upon  me,  am  left  in  darkness.  Do  the  masks  interest  you 
so  much  ? 

Lorenzo.  So  much,  my  dear,  that  I  am  dying  with  im- 
patience. There  will  be  flowers  and  serpents,  Francesca. 
There  will  be  flowers,  and  serpents  among  the  flowers.  There 
will  be  a  dragon,  Francesca.  A  dragon  will  come  crawling  to 
us,  Francesca,  and  you  will  see  real  fire  issuing  from  his  jaws. 
It  wfll  be  great  fun.  But  don't  be  afraid.  It's  all  in  jest. 
It's  all  just  our  friends,  and  we  shall  have  a  glorious  laugh 
over  it.     Why  don't  they  come  ? 

A  Servant.  [Hurrying  in]  I  was  watching  from  the  tower, 
and  I  saw  something  moving  along  the  road,  Signor.     It 
looks  like  a  black  serpent  crawling  among  the  cypresses. 
^  Lorenzo.  [Joyfully]  They're  coming.     They're  coming. 
S  Another  Servant.  [Running  in]  I  was  watching  from  the 
^  Jtower,  and  I  saw  a  dragon  crawling  toward  us.     I  saw  red 
vp   ^  fire  gleaming  from  its  eyes,  and  I  was  frightened,  Signor. 
ji^  Or        Lorenzo.  [Joyfully]  They're    coming.     They're    coming. 
f      Do  you  hear,  Petruccio  ? 
?f  Petruccio.  Everything  is  ready,  Signor. 

Third  Servant.  [Running  in]  There  is  shouting  and 
commotion  at  the  drawbridge,  Signor.  They  are  demanding 
admittance.     I  heard  the  clash  of  weapons,  sir. 

Lorenzo.  [Angrily]  What !  The  drawbridge  not  down  ? 
Is  that  the  way  to  receive  my  guests,  Petruccio.'*  To-mor- 
row I  discharge  you,  if  you 

Petruccio.  Pardon  me,  sir.     I  will  run.  [Runs  out. 

Lorenzo.  They  have  come!  Smile,  Francesca!  They 
have  come ! 


N 


ACT  I.    sc.  I     THE  BLACK  MASKERS  9 

Ecco.  [Laughs  very  loudly]  Yes,  let's  laugh,  Lorenzo. 
We  must  limber  up  our  jaws.  [Yawns. 

Lorenzo.  But  the  musicians !  Good  Heavens !  Where 
are  the  musicians.'*  Has  that  dunce  forgotten  all  my  direc- 
tions ? 

Francesca.  Don't  be  angry,  my  dear.  The  musicians 
are  in  readiness. 

Lorenzo.  But  why  are  they  not  here  ? 

Francesca.  See,  now,  my  love,  you  compel  me  to  let  out 
the  secret.  They  intended  to  surprise  you.  The  musicians 
also  are  to  appear  in  masks. 

Lorenzo.  And  I  shall  not  recognise  them?  Oh,  that  is 
charming !  And  who  planned  this  surprise  ?  Ah,  it  was 
you,  it  was  you,  Signora.  I  can  read  it  in  your  sly,  smiling 
eyes.  But  the  music!  Surely  they  have  not  forgotten  to 
learn  the  piece  I  composed  for  them.  Oh,  this  fat  rascal  of 
a  Petruccio !     I  shall  certainly  have  to  impale  him. 

Ecco.  How  indiscreet  of  you,  Lorenzo!  Petruccio  will 
steal  the  stake  and  run  away  with  it. 

Lorenzo.  Oh!  Now  I  think  of  it,  Ecco,  just  a  word 
with  you  before  they  come.  My  dear  fellow,  you  may 
mock  me  as  much  as  you  please;  I  understand  your  humour 
and  I  like  it.  But  don't,  I  beg  of  you,  offend  my  guests. 
You  must  not  be  malicious,  Ecco,  even  in  sport.  You  have 
a  tender  heart,  my  little  hunchback,  and  you  are  not  ill- 
natured.  Why,  then,  do  you  sting  people  with  your  jests? 
Laugh.  Entertain  my  guests.  Make  yourself  agreeable  to 
the  ladies — and  here  you  may  go  far — but  do  not  irritate 
any  one.     To-day  is  my  day,  Ecco. 

A  Servant.  [Flinging  open  the  doors]  They  are  at  the  door, 
Signor, 

Lorenzo.  I'm  coming.  I'm  coming.  Call  the  musicians ! 
^jj^      Commotion  in  the  hall.    Several  Maskers  appear.    The 


/ 


10  THE  BLACK  MASKERS     act  i.    sc.  i 

costumes  are  such  as  are  common  at  masquerades — 

harlequins,    pierrots,    Saracens,    Turkish    m£n    and 

j  women,  and  animals  and  flowers.     But  all  the  faces 

V  are  concealed  under  heavy,  closely  fitting  masks.     The 

I  Maskers  enter  in  profound  silence  and  respond  to 

'    the  Duke's  courteous  greetings  with  silent  bows. 

Lorenzo.  [Bowing    low    and    courteously]  I    thank    you, 

ladies  and  gentlemen.     I  am  happy  to  greet  you  in  my  castle. 

Pardon  the  carelessness  of  my  overseer  in  failing  to  lower 

the  drawbridge  and  thus  causing  you  some  delay.     I  am 

greatly  mortified,  ladies  and  gentlemen. 

A  Masker.  [In  a  muffled  voice]  We  arrived  just  the  same. 
We  got  in,  did  we  not,  gentlemen  ? 
Second  Masker.  We  got  in. 
Third  Masker.  We  got  in. 

Strange,  muffled  laughter  from  behind  the  heavy  masks. 
Lorenzo.  I  am  delighted  to  find  you  in  such  good  spirits, 
ladies  and  gentlemen.     From  this  moment  my  castle  is  yours. 
A  Masker.  Yes,  it  is  ours.     It  is  ours. 

The  same  strange,  muffled  laughter. 
Lorenzo.   [Looking  about  gaily]  But  I  do  not  recognise 
any  one.     It  is  amazing,  gentlemen,  but  I  do  not  recognise 
a  single  soul.     Is  this  you,  Signor  Basilio?    It  seems  to 
me  that  I  recognise  your  voice. 

A  Voice.  Signor  Basilio  is  not  here. 

Another    Voice.    Signor    Basilio   is    not   here.    Signor 
Basilio  is  dead. 

Lorenzo.  [Laughing]  That's  a  good  joke.     Signor  Basilio 
dead  ?     Why,  he  is  as  much  alive  as  I  am. 
A  Masker.  Are  you,  then,  alive  ? 

Lorenzo.  [Impatiently,    but   with   great   courtesy]  Let   us 
leave  Death  in  peace,  gentlemen. 


ACT  I.    sc.  I     THE  BLACK  MASKERS  11 

A  Voice.  Ask  Death  to  leave  you  in  peace.  What  need 
of  peace  has  he  ? 

Lorenzo.  Who  said  that?  Was  it  you,  Signor  Sandro? 
[Laughing]  I  recognise  you,  sir,  by  your  melancholy.  But 
cheer  up,  my  gloomy  friend.  See  how  many  lights  there 
are,  how  many  beautiful,  living  lights. 

A  Masker.  Signor  Sandro  is  not  here.  Signor  Sandro 
is  dead. 

The  same  strange,  muffled  laughter.     Other  Maskers 
arrive. 

Lorenzo.  Yes,  yes.  Now  I  understand.  [Laughing]  All 
of  us  are  dead.  Signor  Basilio  is  dead;  Signor  Sandro  is 
dead;  I  am  dead.  Excellent!  I  congratulate  you,  gen- 
tlemen, on  your  extremely  interesting  jest.  Still,  I  should 
like  to  know  who  you  are —  Ah,  here  come  others !  Greet- 
ings, my  dear  guests —  What  a  strange  costume !  Why 
are  you  all  in  red,  and  what  is  the  meaning  of  this  hideous 
black  snake  that  is  twined  about  you  .J*  I  trust  it  is  not 
alive,  Signora.  If  it  were  I  should  pity  your  poor  heart  into 
which  it  has  so  ruthlessly  struck  its  fangs. 

The  Red  Masker.  [With  a  muffled  laugh]  Do  you  not 
recognise  me,  Lorenzo  ? 

Lorenzo.  [Joyously]  Is  it  you,  Signora  Emilia?  But  no, 
Signora  Emilia  is  not  so  tall  as  you,  and  her  voice  is  fuller 
and  softer. 

The  Red  Masker.  I  am  your  heart,  Lorenzo. 

Lorenzo.  Exquisite!  I  am  sincerely  delighted,  my 
friends,  that  I  invited  you  for  this  evening.  You  are  so 
witty.  However,  you  mistake,  madam.  This  is  not  my 
heart.     There  is  no  serpent  in  my  heart. 

Another  Masker.  Is  not  this  your  heart,  Lorenzo  ? 

Lorenzo.  [Starting    back,    but    controlling    himself]  You 


12  THE  BLACK  MASKERS     act  i.    sc.  i 

frighten  me,  sir,  coming  so  unexpectedly  from  behind. 
What?  This  hairy  black  spider;  this  repulsive  monster 
on  thin,  wavering  legs;  those  dull,  greedy,  cruel  eyes — this 
my  heart?  No,  Signor,  my  heart  is  full  of  love  and  wel- 
come. Within  my  heart  all  is  as  radiant  as  is  this  castle, 
which  greets  you  so  joyously,  my  strange  guests. 

The  Spider.  Lorenzo,  Lorenzo,  let  us  go  and  catch  flies. 
In  a  spider-web  in  the  tower  yonder  something  has  long  been 
entangled  and  awaits  you.  Let  us  go,  Lorenzo.  Would 
you  not  like  some  fresh  blood  ? 

Lorenzo.  [Laughing]  In  my  castle  there  is  no  spider- 
web.  In  my  tower  there  is  none  of  that  darkness  which  is 
necessary  to  such  loathsome  creatures  as  you,  my  strange 
guest.     But  who  are  you  ? 

The  Red  Masker.  Lorenzo,  the  serpent  is  restless.     It 

is  trying  to  sting  me,  Lorenzo.      Oh,  the  pain,  the  terror  of 

it!    Stroke    its    head,    Lorenzo.     It    has    such    a    beautiful, 

smooth  head,  and  you  see  it  is  not  alive.     Soothe  it,  Lorenzo. 

Muffled  laughter. 

Lorenzo.  [Falling  in  with  the  jest  and  cautiously  stroking  the 
serpent]  When  the  devil  tempts  he  takes  the  form  of  a  ser- 
pent. But  you,  of  course,  are  not  the  devil.  You  are  only 
a  mock  serpent,  only  a  mock  serpent.  [IlastUy]  But,  gen- 
tlemen, is  it  not  time  to  dance?  The  musicians,  I  pre- 
sume, have  long  been  waiting  impatiently.     Petruccio  ! 

A  Masker.  [Approaching  him]  What  does  your  Grace 
command  ? 

Lorenzo.  Pardon  me,  sir.  I  did  not  call  to  you.  I  was 
summoning  my  overseer.     Petruccio!  ^ 

The  Masker.  I  am  Petruccio. 

Lorenzo.  [Laughing]  Oh,  so  it  is  you,  you  fat  old  rascal. 
You,  too,  have  taken  a  notion  to  join  the  sport.  And  I  didn't 
recognise   you.     Well,  that  is  very  neat.     Come,  now,  tell 


ACT  I.    8c.  I     THE  BLACK  MASKERS  13 

me —  But  where  are  you  ?  Petruccio!  Petruccio!  Really, 
I  shall  have  to  impale  this  fat  rascal.  Hello,  there,  some- 
body !     Manucci !    Pietro ! 

First  Masker.  Did  you  call  me,  sir  ? 

Second  Masker.  Did  you  call  me,  sir  ? 

Lorenzo.  [Perplexed]  No,  I  did  not  call  you.  [Grasping 
the  situation  and  laughing]  Ah,  yes,  I  see.  My  good  fel- 
lows, how  dare  you  mingle  with  the  guests  ? 

First  Masker.  They  told  us  to. 

Second  Masker.  They  told  us  to. 

Lorenzo.  [Good-humouredly  clapping  one  of  the  Maskers 
on  the  shoulder]  Quite  right.  I  was  only  fooling.  Let  us  all 
be  merry  on  this  glorious  night —  But  isn't  it  odd  that  I 
do  not  recognise  any  one — positively  not  a  soul — ?  Why, 
I've  lost  my  servants  again.  Mario !  Pietro — !  Now, 
really,  Signor,  isn't  that  strange.^^  I  have  lost  all  my  ser- 
vants. 

A  Masker.  [Turning  to  the  others]  Gentlemen,  Lorenzo  has 
mislaid  his  servants. 

Loud  laughter,  the  Maskers  bowing  with  mock  courtesy, 

A  Voice.  But  where  is  your  suite,  Lorenzo? 

Lorenzo.  [Looking  about  and  smiling]  I  see  nothing  but 
masks.     Here's  an  interesting  situation,  gentlemen.     Mine 
being  the  only  real  face,  I  am  the  only  person  about  whom 
there  can  be  no  mistake. 
Renewed  laughter. 

A  Voice.  We  are  now  your  suite,  Lorenzo. 

Second  Voice.  We  are  now  your  suite,  Duke.     What  are 
your  instructions? 
Laughter. 

Lorenzo.  [Very  affably,  but  with  dignity]  It  is  delightful, 
gentlemen,  to  find  you  in  such  merry  vein.     I  am  overjoyed 


14  THE  BLACK  MASKERS     acti.    sc.  i 

at  your  charming  jest.     But  I  should  be  deeply  offended  if 
you  really  took  my  servants'  place —    Mario ! 

Other  Maskers  coTne  up.     On  most  of  them  the  tight- 
fitting   masks  are  replaced   by   painted  faces.     The 
women,  however,  as  before,  wear  masks  of  coloured 
silk.     The  painted  faces  of  the  newcomers  are  hideous 
and  revolting.     Among  them  are  corpses,  cripples,  and 
deformed  persons.     A  grey,  helpless  creature  with  long 
legs  moves  about,  frequently  coughing  and  groaning. 
Seven  humpbacked,  wrinkled  old  women  run  in,  in 
Indian  file,  capering  joyfully  and  beating  castanets. 
Lorenzo.  [Bowing  courteously]  I  have  pleasure,  my  dear 
guests,  in  welcoming  you  to  my  castle.     From  this  moment 
it  is  entirely  at  your  service.     Ah,  what  a  charming  proces- 
sion!   Tell  me,  my  beauties,  where  is  your  bridegroom,  the 
devil  ^ 

First  Old  Woman.  [Running  up  to  Lorenzo]  He  is  at  our 
heels. 

Second  Old  Woman.  [Running  up  to  Lorenzo]  He  is  at 
our  heels. 

The  Tall  Grey  Creature.  [Bending  down  to  the  Duke 
and  coughing]  Why  did  you  call  me  from  my  bed,  Lorenzo? 
Lorenzo.  [Lightly]  And  where  is  your  bed,  Signor .? 
The  Tall  Grey  Creature.  In  your  heart,  Lorenzo. 
Lorenzo.  [Cheerfully]  How    they    do    slander    my    poor 
heart!     I  am  pleased  to —  [Staggering  back]  What  an  amaz- 
ing disguise,  Signor!     I  actually  took  you  for  a  corpse.     Pray 
tell  me  the  name  of  the  talented  artist  who  so  skilfully  altered 
your  features. 

The  Masker.  Death. 

Lorenzo.  Capital !  But  if  you  will  permit  me  to  say  so, 
my  dear  guest,  I  am  sure  I  recognise  in  your  make-up  the 
beloved  features   of  my   friend,   Signor  Sandro   di   Grada. 


ACT  I.    sc.  I     THE  BLACK  MASKERS  15 

Heavens,  but  you  frightened  me,  my  dear  fellow!  These 
masks,  these  curious  masks !  Do  you  know,  I  can't  make 
out  at  all  who  they  are.     Perhaps  you  can  help  me,  Signor. 

The  Masker.  It  is  dark,  Lorenzo. 

Lorenzo.  But  I  ordered  an  abundance  of  lights.  We  will 
have  more  of  them.     Petruccio !     Petruccio ! 

The  Masker.  It  is  cold,  Lorenzo. 

Lorenzo.  Cold?  Why,  to  me  it  seems  as  hot  here  as 
hell  itself.  However,  if  you  are  cold,  my  dear  Sandro,  pray 
come  to  the  fire.  Have  a  goblet  of  wine.  Ho,  there,  Pe- 
truccio !    Lazybones ! 

Several  Maskers,  alike  in  appearancey  run  up  at  the 
same  time  and  answer  almost  in  one  voice. 

The  Maskers.  At  your  service,  Signor. 

Lorenzo.  [Not  understanding]  Petruccio ! 

The  Maskers.  [Together]  At  your  service,  Signor.  At 
your  service. 

Lorenzo.  [Laughing]  Ah,  I  see !  A  moment  ago  I  lost  my 
servants,  and  now  I  have  lost  my  overseer.  [In  comic  terror] 
But  here  is  Signor  Sandro  come  shivering  from  his  grave. 
Who  will  give  him  wine  ?  Pardon  me,  Signor —  Why,  he  is 
already  gone!  Poor  fellow!  He  wants  to  warm  himself. 
How  tired  I  am!  I  should  like  a  drop  of  wine  myself .  Signor 
Cristoforo !  Has  no  one  seen  Signor  Cristoforo  ? 
A  tally  thin  Masker  approaches. 

The  Masker.  Your  orders,  sir? 

Lorenzo.  Is  that  you,  my  honest  friend?  I  recognise 
you  by  your  stature.  Bring  me  some  wine.  This  receiving 
of  my  guests  has  wearied  me. 

The  Masker.  Something  is  wrong  with  our  wine,  Lorenzo.^ 
It  has  turned  as  red  as  Satan's  blood,  and  it  crazes  the  brain 
like  the  poison  of  a  serpent.     Do  not  drink  it,  Lorenzo. 

Lorenzo.  [Laughing]  What  could  happen  to  our  fine  old 


16  THE  BLACK  MASKERS     act  i.    sc.  i 

wine?     You  have  tasted  too  much  of  it  and  your  head  is 
muddled. 

The  Masker.  [Insistently]  I  have  already  seen  several 
drunken  guests,  Lorenzo.  If  it  is  honest  wine,  why  should 
they  be  drunk? 

Lorenzo.  Wine,  you  babbler,  wine !  [Drinks  the  wine,  but 
at  the  first  draught  throws  away  the  goblet]  What  is  this  you 
have  given  me  ?  It  seems  as  if  the  fires  of  hell  were  licking 
my  throat  and  burning  their  way  to  my  very  heart.  Cristo- 
foro — !  Where  is  he?  Pardon  me,  gentlemen,  but  really 
something  incomprehensible  has  happened  to  our  wine — 
Ah,  more  maskers!  I  am  glad  to  greet  you  in  my  castle, 
my  dear  guests. 

While  Lorenzo,  weariedly  bowing  ever  lower,  greets  the 
strange  Maskers  that  are  coming  in,  a  subdued  hum 
\  of  conversation  fills  the  hall. 

First  Masker.  Whence  do  you  come,  Signor? 
Second  Masker.  From  the  night.     And  you,  Signor,  if 
you  please? 
\      First  Masker.  I  also  am  from  the  night. 

They  laugh.     Two  other  Maskers  converse. 
First  Masker.  He  has  drunk  all  my  blood.     There  is  not 
one  healthy,  living  spot  left  on  my  body.     It  is  covered  with 
blood  and  wounds. 

Second  Masker.  He  kills  those  whom  he  loves. 
First  Masker.  You  know,  of  course,  what  is  to  happen 
to-day. 

They  move  away.     Other  Maskers  converse. 
Various  Maskers: 

—  It  was  idle  for  Lorenzo  to  light  up  his  castle  so  bril- 
r    liantly.     Did  you  notice  as  we  rode  along  that  something 
\    was  moving  in  the  shadows  of  the  cypresses? 
\       —  I  saw  nothing  but  darkness. 


ACT  I.    sc.  I     THE  BLACK  MASKERS  17 

—  But  are  you  not  afraid  of  darkness  ? 

—  Why,  I  do  not  think  there  is  anything  in  it  for  us  to 
be  afraid  of.  What  can  the  darkness  do  to  us?  But  are 
you  not  sorry  for  this  insane  Lorenzo  ? 

—  I  don't  know.  Something,  I  assure  you,  was  moving 
there. 

—  See  how  happy  Lorenzo  is.  Isn't  it  delightful  to  have 
such  a  cheerful  and  nimble  servant  ? 

They  laugh.     The  masked  musicians  take  their  places  in 

the  balcony.     Ecco  moves  about  arnong  the  legs  of  the 

dancers,  trying  to  peer  under  their  masks  and  arousing 

laughter  by  his  unsuccessful  attempts. 

Ecco.  Are  you  not  from  the  swamps,  Signor?     It  seems 

to  me  you  are  very  like  the  ague  which  for  two  months  shook 

me  as  a  dog  shakes  a  rabbit. 

The  Tall  Grey  Creature  strikes  a  careless  blow  and 
Ecco  falls. 
Ecco.  That's  a  strange  sort  of  joke !     Here  am  I,  the 
jester,  on  the  verge  of  tears,  while  you,  at  whom  I  should 
laugh,  are  smiling.     Oh!  who  pinched  me.'*     Was  it  you, 
Signora  ^ 
A  Beautiful  Masker.  Yes,  it  was  I,  Ecco. 
Ecco.  I  observe,  Signora,  that  a  hump  on  the  breast  de- 
forms a  character  no  less  than  a  hump  on  the  back. 

The  Beautiful  Masker  swiftly  and  silently  strikes  the 
jester  a  blow  with  her  dagger.  The  glittering  edge 
glides  across  his  neck  and  the  jester  runs  whimpering 
up  the  staircase  and  thence  clambers  out  onto  one  of  the 
marble  projections.  Laughter. 
The  musicians  begin  a  wild  melody  in  which  are 
heard  malicious  laughter,  cries  of  agony  and  despair, 
and  som£  one's  low,  sad  plaining.  The  dance  of  the 
Maskers  is  also  strange  and  wild. 


18  THE  BLACK  MASKERS     act  i.    sc.  i 

Lorenzo.  I  am  glad  that  j^ou  are  merry,  my  friends. 
Though  for  my  part  I  am  a  little  weary —  But  what  sort  of 
music  is  this  ?  Heavens !  how  wild  it  is  and  how  it  pierces 
one's  ears.  Luigi,  are  you  drunk  or  crazy  .^  What  are  you 
playing  there  with  your  band  of  disguised  brigands.  Pardon 
me,  my  dear  guests,  this  donkey  Petruccio  has  spoiled 
everything. 

A  Masker  in  the  Orchestra.  We  are  playing  what  you 
gave  us,  sir. 

I    Lorenzo.  [Nettled]  You    lie,    Luigi.     Lorenzo    could    not 
/compose  such  a  hellish  discord.     I  hear  in  it  the  wails  of 
/  /  martyrs  under  merciless  torture.     I  hear  in  it  the  laughter 
/  of  Satan. 

The  Old  Women.  [Running  up  with  castanets]  The  bride- 
groom is  coming.  The  bridegroom  is  coming.  The  bride- 
groom is  coming. 

Lorenzo.  Pardon  me,  my  charming  jesters,  but  I  must 
first  admonish  this  bold-faced  rascal,  Luigi. 

A  Masker  in  the  Orchestra.  Luigi  is  not  here,  Signor. 

Lorenzo.  Then  who  is  speaking?     Is  that  you,  Stampa? 

The  Masker.  No,  it  is  another.  We  are  playing  only 
what  you  gave  us,  Signor. 

Lorenzo.  [Laughing]  Ah,  I  see.  The  tones  are  masked. 
Capital !  Do  you  hear,  ladies  and  gentlemen  ?  To-day  the 
very  tones  are  masked.  Really,  I  was  not  aware  that  tones 
could  put  on  such  repulsive  masks.     Isn't  it  droll  ? 

A  Voice.  And  you  had  never  learned  that,  Lorenzo? 
How  little  you  know. 

Another  Voice.  It's  certainly  your  own  music,  Duke. 

A  Third  Voice.  But  where  are  you  yourself,  Lorenzo? 
Laughter.     The  mu^ic  continues.     The  old  women  with 
the  castanets  run  forward. 


ACT  I.    sc.  I     THE  BLACK  MASKERS  19 

The  Old  Women.  The  bridegroom  is  coming.  The  bride- 
groom.    The  bridgroom  is  coming. 

Lorenzo.  [Bowing  low]  I  crave  your  pardon,  my  dear  sir, 
for  not  greeting  you  as  I  should,  but  there  are  so  many  per- 
sons here  and  I  recognise  no  one  of  them — positively  not  one. 
Just  conceive  of  it — I  do  not  even  recognise  my  own  music. 
It's  extremely  amusing,  isn't  it? 

A  Masker.  But  do  you  recognise  yourself,  Lorenzo? 

Lorenzo.  Myself?  [Laughing]  To  be  sure.  You  see  that 
I  wear  no  mask —     But  what  is  this  ? 

A  strange  procession  moves  slowly  past  the  Duke.  A 
young,  proud,  and  beautifid  queen  is  led  in  by  a  half- 
drunken  groom,  who  embraces  her.  Before  them  walks 
a  peasant  nurse  carrying  in  her  arms  a  misshapen 
infant,  half  animal,  half  man. 

Lorenzo  [In  great  agitation]  What  is  the  meaning  of  this, 
Signors?  Even  under  the  disguise  of  masks  such  a  union 
seems  to  me  unseemly  and  repulsive.  And  what  is  this  that 
is  borne  before  them  ?     What  a  disgusting  mask  ! 

A  Masker.  The  groom  had  intercourse  with  the  queen 
and  this  is  their  charming  son.  Make  way  for  the  queen*s 
son ! 

The  Groom.  [Drunkenly]  Hey  there!    Knights!    Crusa- 
ders !     Out  of  the  way !    Drive  them  oflF,  my  queen,  or  they 
will  harm  our  precious  son. 
Laughter. 

Voices.  Way  for  the  queen's  son ! 

Lorenzo.  [Turning  away  much  agitated]  I  am  not  at  all 
pleased  with  this  jest,  Signors —  Hello,  Ecco,  you  rascally 
jester,  why  have  you  climbed  up  there?  Why  are  you  not 
entertaining  the  company  with  your  pleasantries  ? 

Ecco.  [Weeping]  I  am  afraid  of  your  guests,  Lorenzo. 
They  have  hurt  me.     Send  them  away,  Lorenzo. 


20  THE  BLACK  MASKERS     act  i.    sc.  i 

Lorenzo.  [With  rising  anger]  Who  has  dared  to  affront 
you?  It  cannot  be.  My  honoured  guests  are  too  kind  and 
courteous  to  injure  any  one.  It  is  more  likely  that  you,  you 
rascal,  having  given  offence  by  your  malicious  wit,  are  now 
shielding  yourself  from  punishment. 

Ecco.  [Weeping]  Your  guests  are  fine  people,  Lorenzo. 
My  hump  is  swimming  in  blood.  It  is  like  a  hilly  island  in 
the  sea.  Haven't  you  a  little  costume  for  me,  Lorenzo  ?  I, 
too,  wish  to  put  on  a  mask. 

Lorenzo.  Come  here. 

The  jester,  glancing  about  timorotisly,  comes  down  to 
Lorenzo. 

Ecco.  What  do  you  wish.-^  Speak  quickly  or  I  will  run 
away.     I  am  all  in  a  tremble. 

Lorenzo.  I  also  am  somewhat  fearful,  my  dear  Ecco.  I 
don't  quite  understand  what  is  going  on.  Who  are  these 
persons.'^  I  don't  recognise  one  of  them,  and  I  think  there 
are  more  than  I  invited.  It's  strange.  Can't  you  redognise 
anybody,  Ecco.^*  Their  faces,  to  be  sure,  are  covered,  but 
you  are  so  good  at  recalling  their  bearing,  voice,  and  figure. 
You,  perhaps,  have  recognised  some  one. 

Ecco.  Not  a  soul.     Let  me  go,  Lorenzo. 

Lorenzo.  [Sadly]  Do  you,  then,  desert  me,  my  dear  Ecco  ? 

Ecco.  I  am  going  to  put  on  a  mask. 

Lorenzo.  Very  well,  my  little  hunchback.  Go,  if  you 
are  frightened.  But  send  Donna  Francesca  to  me.  Do  you 
know  where  she  is  ? 

Ecco.  She  is  up-stairs.  Send  them  away,  Lorenzo.  I  will 
run  to  summon  her.  [He  goes  up-stairs. 

Lorenzo.  [Addressing  a  newly  arrived  and  very  beautiful 
Masker]  Greetings,  Signora.  You  are  as  entrancing  as  a 
vision.  You  are  as  delicate  as  a  silvery  moonbeam,  and  I 
reverently  bend  my  knee  before  you.     [He  sinks  on  one  knee 


ACTi.    8C.I     THE  BLACK  MASKERS  21 

and  respectfully  kisses  her  handy  then  rises]  I  see  only  the 
graceful  outline  of  your  figure  and  your  little  foot,  but  per- 
mit me,  my  divinity,  to  be  so  bold  as  to  look  into  your  eyes. 
How  they  shine!  Even  through  the  meshes  of  this  black 
and  hateful  mask  I  see  how  beautiful  they  are.  Who  are 
you,  Signora?    I  do  not  know  you. 

The  Masker.  I  am  your  falsehoods,  Lorenzo.  — 

Lorenzo.  [Laughing]  Can  a  lie,  then,  be  as  beautiful  as 
you  are,  Signora?  But  you  mistake.  There  are  no  lies  in 
me.  I  hate  a  lie,  my  lady.  If  you  knew  Lorenzo's  thoughts, 
his  clear,  pure  thoughts — if  you  knew  his  soul,  which  sings 
in  the  heavens  as  the  lark  sings  in  spring  above  the  flooding 
Arno —  [Frightened]  Ah,  what*s  this? 

Something  formless  and  shapeless^  with  many  arms  and 
legSy  creeps  up.     It  speaks  with  many  voices. 

The  Thing.  We  are  your  thoughts,  Lorenzo. 

Lorenzo.  A  bold  jest!  Still,  you  are  my  guests.  I  in- 
vited you 

The  Thing.  We  are  your  overlords,  Lorenzo.  This  castle 
is  ours. 

Lorenzo.  [Clasping  his  head]  Oh,  this  horrible  music !  It 
is  enough  to  drive  one  mad.  Luigi,  or  somebody  there — I 
do  not  recognise  any  one — I  beg  of  you,  I  command  you — 
play  what  I  gave  you.  Unmask  the  tones.  Don't  you  re- 
member how  beautiful  the  melody  was  that  I  composed  ?  A 
little  sad  it  was,  gentlemen,  I  confess.  In  truth,  I  often 
yield  myself  to  a  tender  and  languorous  melancholy.  But  it 
was  so  full  of  harmony,  so  pure,  so  pellucid.  If,  perchance, 
you  have  forgotten  it,  Luigi,  listen — I  will  recall  it  to  you. 
[He  begins  singing  a  lovely  mdody.  After  the  first  two 
measures^  however y  he  takes  up  the  air  that  the  mumeians  are 
playing  and  breaks  off  in  alarm]  How  absurd !  You  put  me 
out,  gentlemen.     My  head  is  somewhat  dizzy.     Really,  some- 


( 


22  THE  BLACK  MASKERS     act  i.    sc.  i 

thing  was  wrong  with  the  wine.     How  absurd,  gentlemen! 
My  brain  seems  to  have  turned  to  melted  lead. 
Lovd  laughter. 

A  Voice.     Why  did  you  break  off,  Lorenzo  ? 

Second    Voice.  Lorenzo    is    drunk.     Lorenzo,    Duke    of 
Spadaro,  is  drunk. 
Laughter. 

Second  Voice.  We  were  ready  to  hear  you,  Lorenzo;  we 
know  what  a  great  artist  you  are. 

Third  Voice.  Sing,  Lorenzo;  we  insist. 

Lorenzo.  [With  dignity]  My  friends —  [Frightened]  Ah, 
who  are  you  ?  Who  touches  me  on  the  shoulder  ?  Madam, 
the  guests  are  all  assembled,  and  you  are  an  intruder.  I  do 
not  know  you. 

A  Beautiful  Masker.  It  is  I,  my  love. 

Lorenzo.  Pardon  me,  madam,  but  only  my  wife.  Donna 
Francesca,  may  address  me  thus. 

The  Masker.  [Laughing  softly]  Do  you  not  know  me, 
Lorenzo  ^ 

Lorenzo.  Something  about  you,  my  charming  masker, 
reminds  me  of  my  wife.  But  this  black  mask —  Permit  me 
to  look  into  your  eyes.  Out  of  a  million  women  I  should 
know  my  beloved  by  her  eyes.  [He  gazes  into  her  eyes,  then 
laughs  joyfully]  Francesca,  my  love,  how  you  frightened  me ! 
Why  are  you  masked?  You  know —  [He  leads  her  to  one 
side  and,  pressing  her  tightly  to  him,  speaks  almost  in  a  lohisper] 
My  dear,  I  am  so  weary,  and  my  heart  pains  me  as  if  a  ser- 
pent were  stinging  it.  My  thoughts  are  in  confusion.  You 
have  seen  that  frightful  monster — look!  Over  yonder!  It's- 
in  the  corner  now.  It  says  it  is  my  thoughts.  But,  Fran- 
cesca, my  dear,  my  beloved,  that  is  not  true,  is  it? 

The  Masker.  It  is  only  a  mask,  Lorenzo. 


ACT  I.    sc.  I     THE  BLACK  MASKERS  23 

Lorenzo.  [Doubtfully]  Do  you  really  think  so,  Signora? 
And  will  they  go,  and  shall  we  be  left  alone  ? 

The  Masker.  Yes,  we  shall  be  left  alone.  [Passionately] 
And  I  shall  hold  you  so  tightly,  Lorenzo,  that  you  will  think 
I  have  never  embraced  you  before. 

Lorenzo.  [Absently]  Yes.?^  I  am  very  happy,  my  lady — 
But  these  masks — this  horrible  Signor  Sandro  is  painted  so 
like  a  corpse  as  to  deceive  any  grave-digger.  It  seemed  to 
me  that  I  saw  worms.  I  would  not  put  on  so  frightful,  so 
revolting  a  mask  even  in  jest. 

The  Masker.  [Frightened]  Signor  Sandro.?  Why,  Signor 
Sandro  is  really  dead.     My  dear,  you  have  made  a  mistake. 

Lorenzo.  [Slowly]  Why  do  you  mock  at  me,  Francesca? 
If  he  were  dead  I  should  have  had  notice  of  his  death. 

The  Masker.  And  so  you  did,  Lorenzo.  You  have  for- 
gotten, and  you  are  weary.  Your  hands  are  cold.  I  must 
kiss  your  hand,  my  love,  even  though  they  are  watching  us. 
She  kisses  his  hand.  Another  beautiful  Masker  ap- 
proaches from  behind  and  speaks  in  a  loud  voice. 

The  Second  Masker.  Lorenzo,  did  you  send  for  me? 

Lorenzo.  [Horrified]  Francesca's  voice ! 

The  Second  Masker.  Ecco  said  that  you  wished  to  see 
me. 

Lorenzo.  Ecco  ?  [Slowly  pushing  away  the  Masker  whom 
he  had  embraced  and  looking  at  her  in  horror]  But  who  are  you, 
Signora.'*  And  how  dared  you  deceive  me.'*  I  have  done 
you  honour — I  have  embraced  you.  [He  pushes  her  away 
gently]  Leave  me. 

The  First  Masker.  [Wringing  her  hands]  Lorenzo!  Lo- 
renzo !   Would  you  drive  me  away  ?   What  ails  you,  Lorenzo  ? 

The  Second  Masker.  [Impatiently]  Did  you  send  for  me, 
Lorenzo.''  Who  is  this  lady  who  presumes  to  speak  to  you 
so  affectionately  ? 


J 


U  THE  BLACK  MASKERS     act  i.    sc.  i 

Lorenzo.  Francesca!  Francesca!  [In  perplexity  he  looks 
now  at  one  and  now  at  the  other.  Approaching  the  Second 
Masker  and  knitting  his  brows  in  an  expression  of  horrified  in- 
quiry ^  he  gazes  into  her  eyes]  Your  eyes,  your  eyes — show  me 
your  eyes.  Yes,  it  is  you,  Francesca.  It  is  your  soft  and 
tender  gaze.  It  is  your  beautiful  soul.  Give  me  your  hand. 
[To  the  First  Masker,  with  contempt]  And  you,  madam, 
leave  me. 

The  Second  Masker.  [Pressing  close  to  the  Duke]  Lorenzo, 
your  maskers  frighten  me.  Our  castle  is  overrun  with  mon- 
sters.    I  saw  Signor  Sandro.     He  is  horrible. 

Lorenzo.  [Clasping  his  head]  Signor  Sandro  ?  Why,  he  is 
dead.     You  told  me  so  yourself. 

A  third  equally  beautiful  Masker  approaches  from  be- 
hind and  speaks  in  a  loud  voice. 
The  Third  Masker.  Lorenzo,  my  dear,  did  you  send  for 
me.'*    Ecco  said  that  you  wished  to  see  me.     Who  is  this 
lady  with  you  ?    And  what  is  the  meaning  of  this  unseemly 
familiarity,  Lorenzo.'* 

Lorenzo.  [Stepping  back  with  a  laugh  in  which  is  heard  a 
note  of  insanity]  What  a  capital  joke,  madam,  what  a  delicious 
farce!  Now  it  is  my  wife  who  is  lost.  Laugh,  my  dear  guests. 
I  had  a  wife.  They  called  her  Donna  Francesca,  and  I  have 
lost  her.     What  a  strange  jest! 

The  Three  Maskers.  [Together]  Lorenzo,  my  beloved ! 
Lorenzo.  [Laughing]  Do  you  hear,  gentlemen  ? 

General  unrestrained  laughter. 
Voices.  Lorenzo   has   lost   his    wife.     Weep,    gentlemen. 
Lorenzo  has  lost  his  wife.     Give  Lorenzo  another  wife. 

On  all  sides  are  heard  plaintive  female  voices :  "Here  I 
am,  Lorenzo.  Here  I  am,  Lorenzo.  Take  your 
Francesca."  From  somewhere  comes  a  single  terri- 
fied voice:    "Save  me,  Lorenzo,  I  am  here."     Loud 


ACT  I.    sc.  I     THE  BLACK  MASKERS  25 

laughter.     The  seven  old  women,  tviih  the  air  of  coy 
and  embarrassed  brides^  seem  about  to  throw  them- 
selves on  Lorenzo's  neck. 
Voice.  We  will  give  Lorenzo  a  wife.     Gentlemen,  Duke 
Lorenzo  is  now  contracting  a  new  marriage.     The  wedding 
march,  musicians! 

The  Musicians  play  vnld  strains  remotely  resembling 

wedding  music,  but  the  mu^ic  is  that  which  is  played 

in  hell  at  the  masquerade  wedding  of  Satan.     The 

Red  Masker  with  the  serpent  approaches  Lorenzo. 

The  Red  Masker.  Do  you  recognise  your  heart  now, 

Lorenzo?  [Plaintively]  Caress  the  poor  serpent,  caress  the 

poor  serpent.     It  has  drunk  all  my  blood. 

The  Spider.  Now  do  you  recognise  your  heart,  Lorenzo? 
Let  us  go  up  into  the  tower,  my  friend.  Something  is  en- 
tangled in  the  spider-web  there  and  waits  for  you.  But  is 
your  sword  sharp,  Lorenzo  ?    Is  your  sword  sharp  ? 

Lorenzo.  Hence,  hence !  Brood  of  darkness,  I  know  you 
not.  [Running  a  few  steps  up  the  staircase,  and  raised  thus 
alone  above  the  throng  of  Maskers,  he  tries  to  cry  out,  but 
suddenly  presses  his  hand  to  his  heart,  and,  smiling  sadly,  comes 
down  again,  the  same  winning,  candid,  noble,  and  handsome 
figure  as  before]  Pardon  me,  my  dear  friends,  for  my  touch 
of  ill-humour.  These  choice  jests,  these  adroit  tricks  of  yours 
have  just  a  little  dashed  my  spirits —  And  I  have  lost  my 
wife —  Her  name  was  Donna  Francesca.  Permit  me  now — 
since  the  hour  of  departure  draws  nigh — permit  me  to  call 
your  attention  to  some  real  music — not  the  hideous  discords 
with  which  this  disguised  brigand  of  a  Luigi  has,  in  his  desire 
to  contribute  to  the  general  gaiety,  so  tortured  our  ears,  but 
some  music  of  my  own.  I  am  a  very  poor  composer,  gentle- 
men. It  is  rare  that  these  earthly  ears  of  mine  are  ravished 
by  celestial  melodies.     But  you  will  not  criticise  me  too 


26  THE  BLACK  MASKERS     act  i.    sc.  i 

harshly.  In  the  virgin  purity  of  the  tones  you  will  find  a 
restful  calmness  and  the  reflection  of  some  one's  heavenly 
vision —  And  I  have  lost  my  wife,  gentlemen,  I  have  lost 
ray  wife.     Her  name  was  Donna  Francesca. 

The  Maskers.  We  are  waiting  for  your  music,  Lorenzo. 
All  the  world  knows  the  enchanting  music  of  Duke  Lorenzo. 
But  the  hour  of  departure  is  still  remote. 

Lorenzo.  I  am  at  your  service,  my  dear  guests. 

[He  confers  with  the  Musicians. 
A  little  before  this  the  first  of  the  Black  Maskers  has 
appeared  in  the  hall — a  strange,  deformed  creature 
like  a  living  fragment  of  darkness.     Glancing  about 
timidly    and   suspiciously,  wondering   at  everything 
new,  strange,  and  unfamiliar,  the  Black  Masker 
steals  guiltily  along  the  wall  and  awkwardly  conceals 
itself  behind  the  other  Maskers.  Every  one  whom  it 
approaches  starts  back  perplexed  and  alarmed. 
A  Voice.  Who  is  this  ^    This  is  not  a  masker. 
Second  Voice.  I  don't  know.    Who  invited  you,  sir.'* 

The  Black  Masker   makes  no  answer,  but,  shrink- 
ing into  itself,  quietly  hides  behind  the  others.     Two 
Maskers  converse. 
First  Masker.  [To  the  other  in  a  low  voice]  How  many  of 
us  were  there? 
Second  Masker.  A  hundred. 

First  Masker.  But  now  there  are  more.  Who  is  this? 
Don't  you  know  ? 

Second  Masker.  Not  I.  But  I  am  afraid  to  speak  of  it. 
It  seems  that  they  fly  toward  the  light. 

First  Masker.     Crazy  Lorenzo!    He  lighted  up  his  castle 
too  brilliantly. 
Second  Masker.  Lights  are  dangerous  in  the  night. 
First  Masker.  To  those  who  are  abroad  ? 


ACT  I.    sc.  I     THE  BLACK  MASKERS  27 

Second  Masker.  No,  to  him  who  lights  them. 
Lorenzo.  My  friends,  I  beg  your  attention.  You  see  this 
masked  gentleman.  His  name  is  Romualdo  and  he  is  an 
admirable  singer.  He  will  now  render  for  you  a  little  ballad 
which  I  made  bold  to  compose.  Have  you  your  notes, 
Romualdo  ? 
The  Masked  Singer.  I  have,  sir. 

Lorenzo.  And  the  words  ?    Consult  your  notes  frequently. 
In  one  place,  my  friend,  you  often  go  wrong. 
The  Masked  Singer.  I  have  the  words  also,  sir. 
Lorenzo.  Luigi,  you  villain,  if  you  make  a  mistake  in  a 
single  note  I  will  have  you  hanged  from  the  castle  wall 
to-morrow. 

A  Masker  in  the  Orchestra.  You  will  have  no  occasion 
to  waste  rope  on  me,  sir. 

Lorenzo.  Attention,    ladies    and    gentlemen,    attention. 
[Much  excited]  Now,  Romualdo,  do  your  best,  my  friend.    Do 
not  disgrace  me,  and  to-morrow  I  will  give  you  a  costly  belt. 
The  accompaniment  begins  with  a  beautiful,  soft,  and 
tender  harmony,  pure  and  clear  as  a  cloudless  sky  or 
cw  the  eyes  of  a  child  ;  but  with  each  successive  mea- 
sure which  the  nuisked  artist  sings  the  music  becomes 
more  fragiaentary  and  Tnore  restless  and  soon  parses 
over  into  wild  cries  and  laughter,  expressive  of  tragical 
but  incoherent  emotion.     It  closes  with  a  solemn  and 
melancholy  hymn. 
The  Masked  Singer.  [Singing]  "My  soul  is  an  enchanted 
castle.     When  the  sun  shines  into  the  lofty  windows,  with 
its  golden  rays  it  weaves  golden  dreams.     When  the  sad  moon 
looks  into  the  misty  windows,  in  its  silvery  beams  are  silvery 
dreams.     Who    laughs.'*    Who   laughs    so   tenderly    at    the 
mournful  dirge  ?" 

Lorenzo.  Right,  right,  Romualdo. 


28  THE  BLACK  MASKERS     act  i.    sc.  i 

The  Masked  Singer.  [Singing]  "And  I  lighted  up  my 
castle  with  lights.  What  has  happened  to  my  soul  ?  The 
black  shadows  fled  to  the  hills  and  returned  yet  blacker. 
Who  sobs  ?  Who  groans  so  heavily  in  the  black  shadows  of 
the  cypresses?     Who  came  at  my  call.'*" 

Lorenzo.  [In  perplexity]  That  is  not  there,  Romualdo. 
What  kind  of  music  is  that? 

The  Masked  Singer.  [Singing]  "And  terror  entered  my 
shining  castle.  What  has  happened  to  my  soul?  The 
lights  go  out  at  the  breath  of  the  darkness.  Who  laughs? 
Who  laughs  so  horribly  at  insane  Lorenzo?  Have  pity  on 
me,  O  Monarch.  My  soul  is  filled  with  terror.  O  Monarch — 
O  Lord  of  the  World— O  Satan !" 

The  Maskers.  [Laughing]  Have  pity  on  him,  Satan. 

Lorenzo.  That  is  false,  singer.  I,  Lorenzo,  Duke  of 
Spadaro,  Knight  of  the  Holy  Ghost,  could  never  have  called 
Satan  the  monarch  of  the  world.  Give  me  the  notes.  My 
sword  shall  teach  you  how  to  read.  [Snatches  the  notes  and 
reads  with  growing  horror]  "And  my  soul  is  filled  with  terror, 
O  Lord  of  the  World — O  Satan."  That  is  false.  Some  one 
has  imitated  my  handwriting,  gentlemen.  I  never  wrote 
this.  I  swear  by  almighty  heaven,  sirs,  I  swear  by  the  sacred 
memory  of  my  mother,  I  swear  by  my  word  of  honour  as  a 
knight.  There  is  some  base  deceit  here.  The  words  have 
been  altered,  gentlemen. 

The  Maskers.  We  have  no  need  of  your  oaths,  Lorenzo. 
Go  to  the  chm-ch  if  you  want  to  repent.  We  are  the  masters 
\    here.     Continue,  singer. 

Lorenzo.  [Smiling  feebly]  Pardon  me,  gentlemen,  I  had 
f6r  the  moment  forgotten  that  for  me  everything  is  changed 
—faces,  tones,  even  words.  But  who  would  have  thought, 
my  dear  guests,  that  words  could  assume  such  revolting 
lliasks.     Go  on  with  your  jest,  singer. 


ACT  I.    sc.  I     THE  BLACK  MASKERS  29 

The  Masked  Sinqhr.  [Singing]  "In  the  black  depths  of 
my  heart  I  shall  erect  a  throjie  to  you,  O  Satan.  In  the  black 
depths  of  my  thought  I  shall  erect  a  throne  to  you,  O  Satan. 
Divine,  immortal,  almighty,  from  now  on  and  for  ever  hold 
sway  over  the  soul  of  Lorenzo,  happy,  insane  Lorenzo." 
Applause.    Laughter. 

Voices: 

—  Bravo,  Lorenzo !    Bravo,  bravo ! 

—  Lorenzo  is  the  vassal  of  Satan. 

—  We  kneel  to  you,  Lorenzo. 

—  Lorenzo,  Duke  of  Spadaro,  is  a  vassal  of  Satan. 

—  Bravo!     Bravo! 

Lorenzo.  [Crying  out]  In  God's  name,  gentlemen,  we  are 
all  deceived.  This  is  not  my  singer.  This  is  not  Romualdo 
but  some  impostor.  Satan  has  sent  him  here.  Something 
frightful  has  happ>ened,  gentlemen. 
A  Voice.  He  sang  your  own  song,  Lorenzo. 
Second  Voice.  Out  of  your  own  mouth  he  confessed  to 
Satan. 

Lorenzo.  [Pressing  his  hand  to  his  heart]  This  is  a  horrible 
falsehood,  gentlemen.  Just  imagine,  my  dear  guests — how 
could  I,  Duke  Lorenzo,  Knight  of  the  Holy  Ghost,  son  of  a 

crusader 

A  Voice.  But  did  your  mother  tell  you  whose  son  you  are, 
Duke  Lorenzo  ? 

Laughter.    Lorenzo,  extending  his  armSy  tries  to  say 
something,  but  his  words  are  inaudible.     Pressing  his 
hands  to  his  head,  he  runs  smiftly  up  the  staircase. 
Cries:    "Way  for  the  queen*s  son!"     Tvx)  Black 
Maskers  appear,  one  after  the  other. 
A  Voice.  Who  is  this.'^    Our  numbers  increase. 
A  Frightened  Voice.  Uninvited  guests  are  coming.    Un- 
invited guests  are  coming. 


30  THE  BLACK  MASKERS    act  i.    sc.  ii 

Third  Voice.  They  fly  to  the  light.  Off  with  your  mask, 
sir.  [He  tries  to  pull  the  black  mask  from  the  face  of  the  stranger 
and  springs  back  in  terror,  crying]  They  are  not  masked, 
gentlemen. 

General  confusion.     Everything  is  enveloped  in  darkness. 
The  wild  music,  however,  continues,  gradually  receding. 

Curtain. 


SCENE   II 

From  somewhere  in  the  distance  coTne  sounds  of  mu^ic,  which, 
mingling  with  the  howling  and  whistling  of  the  wind  that 
rages  about  the  castle,  fill  the  air  with  a  wild,  tremulous 


An  ancient  library  in  the  castle  tower.  A  low,  massive  oak  door, 
partly  open,  through  which  steps  are  seen  leading  down  and 
a  little  beyond  other  steps  leading  upward.  The  heavy  ceil- 
ing is  vaulted  and  there  are  small  windows  in  deep  stone 
recesses.  Here  and  there  on  the  walls  and  hanging  from 
the  ceiling  are  spider-webs.  Everywhere  are  large  old  books 
— on  the  floor,  in  heavy,  iron-bound  chests,  and  on  small 
wooden  stands.  A  portion  of  the  wall,  hollowed  out  in  niches, 
is  also  itsed  to  hold  books.  Some  of  the  niches  are  draped 
with  heavy  curtains. 

Beside  one  of  the  open  chests,  which  is  full  of  papers  yellowed 
with  age,  Lorenzo  is  seated  on  a  low  stool.  Near  him,  on 
a  support,  stands  a  urrought-iron  lantern  lohich,  by  reason 
of  its  cross-bars,  throws  here  dark  shadows  and  there  bright 
lines  of  light.  For  some  time  there  is  profound  silence. 
All  that  can  be  heard  is  the  far-off  music  and  the  rustling 
of  the  sheets  of  paper  as  Lorenzo  turns  them  over.  Lo- 
renzo is  dressed  as  at  the  ball. 


ACT  I.    8c.  n    THE  BLACK  MASKERS  31 

Lorenzo.  [Raising  his  head]  What  a  frightful  wind  there 
is  to-day !  For  three  nights  now  it  has  been  raging  and  grows 
steadily  more  violent.  How  horribly  like  the  music  of  my 
thoughts !  These  poor  thoughts  of  mine !  How  like  fright- 
ened creatures  they  beat  about  within  this  tight  box  of  bone ! 
Once  Lorenzo  was  young,  but  now,  though  only  a  little  time 
has  passed — though  the  sun  has  encircled  the  earth  but  twice 
— lo,  he  is  old,  and  the  weight  of  terrible  experience,  the  hor- 
rible truth  of  things  human  and  divine,  has  bowed  his  youth- 
ful back.  Poor  Lorenzo !  Poor  Lorenzo !  [He  reads.  Break' 
ing  off  for  a  moment]  If  all  that  is  in  these  yellowed  papers 
is  true,  who  then  is  ruler  of  the  world,  God  or  Satan  ?  And 
who  am  I  that  call  myself  Lorenzo,  Duke  of  Spadaro  ?  Oh, 
the  horrible  reality  of  human  life !  My  young  soul  is  smitten 
with  sorrow.  [He  reads,  then  carefully  lays  aside  the  sheets  and 
speaks]  So  it  is  true,  mother;  it  is  true.  I  thought,  my 
mother,  that  you  were  a  saint.  I  swore  by  your  memory, 
and  my  oath  was  as  solemn  as  if  I  had  sworn  upon  my  knightly 
sword;  and  yet  you,  my  saintly  mother,  were  the  paramour 
of  a  drunken,  thieving  groom.  And  my  noble  father,  return- 
ing from  Palestine  to  die  in  his  ancestral  home,  learned  of 
this  and  pardoned  you,  and  bore  the  terrible  secret  with  i 
him  to  his  grave.  Whose  son  am  I,  O  my  saintly  mother —  I 
the  son  of  a  knight,  who  gave  his  life's  blood  to  the  Lord,  or  | 
the  son  of  a  filthy  groom,  an  abominable  traitor  and  thief,  / 
who  robbed  his  master  at  his  orisons?  Poor  Lorenzo/ 
Poor  Lorenzo ! 

He  falls  into  deep  thought.  Swift  footsteps  are  heard 
along  the  staircase,  and  Lorenzo  rushes  into  the  room, 
his  head  between  his  hands,  in  the  same  attitude  in 
which  he  left  the  hall.  He  takes  his  hands  from  his 
face,  sees  the  Lorenzo  who  is  seated,  and  cries  out  in 
a  frightened  voice. 


32  THE  BLACK  MASKERS    act  i.    sc.  n 

The  Second  Lorenzo.  Who  is  this  ? 

The  First  Lorenzo.  [Rising  in  alarm]  Who  is  this? 

The  Second   Lorenzo  throws  himself  upon  the  other 
and  hurls  the  lantern  to  the  floor.     The  room  is  now 
faintly  illuminated  by  the  light  from  the  open  door. 
There  is  a  brief,  muffled  struggle  and  then  the  two 
figures  separate. 
The  Second  Lorenzo.  Your  jest  is  overbold,  sir.     Re- 
move your  mask,  I  command  you,  else  I  will  remove  it  for 
you  by  force.     I  gave  you  my  castle  but  not  myself,  and  by 
assuming  my  mask  you  insult  me.     There  is  but  one  Lorenzo, 
but  one  Duke  of  Spadaro,  and  that  is  I.     Off  with  your  mask, 
sir !  [He  advances  toward  the  other. 

The  First  Lorenzo.  [In  a  trembling  voice]  If  you  are  only 
a  frightful  apparition,  I  conjure  you,  in  the  name  of  God, 
vanish.  There  is  but  one  Lorenzo,  but  one  Duke  of  Spadaro, 
and  that  is  I. 

The  Second  Lorenzo.  [Wildly]  Off  with  your  mask,  sir ! 
I  have  borne  too  long  with  your  unseemly  jests.     My  patience 
is  at  an  end.     Either  remove  your  mask  or  draw  your  sword. 
Duke  Lorenzo  knows  how  to  punish  insolence. 
The  First  Lorenzo.  In  God's  name ! 
The  Second  Lorenzo.  In  the  devil's  name,  you  mean, 
unhappy  man.     Your  sword,  sir,  your  sword,  else  I  shall  run 
you  through  on  the  spot  like  a  guilty  dog. 
The  First  Lorenzo.  In  God's  name ! 
The  Second  Lorenzo.  [Furiously]  Your  sword,  sir,  your 
sword ! 

From  the  dimly  lighted  stage  comes  the  whistling  and  the 
clash  of  meeting  rapiers.  Tfie  two  Lorenzos  engage 
each  other  savagely,  though  the  First  Lorenzo  is  ob- 
viously the  inferior.  There  are  brief,  muffled  excla- 
mations : 


ACT  I.    sc.  m    THE  BLACK  MASKERS  35 

"In  God's  name!" 
"OflF  with  your  mask !" 
"You  have  killed  me,  Lorenzo." 
He  falls  and  dies.     Lorenzo  sets  his  foot  upon  the 
corpse  and,  wiping  his  sword,  speaks  with  unexpected 
sadness  and  tenderness. 
Lorenzo.  I    am    sorry    for    you,    Sir    Impostor.     Your 
strength  of  wrist,  your  deep  breathing,  showed  me  that  you 
were  young  like  myself.     But  your  misfortune,  unhappy  sir, 
lay  in  this,  that  Duke  Lorenzo  wearied  of  laughing  at  the 
amiable  quips  of  his  guests.     You  went  to  an  obscure  death, 
young  man,  the  hapless  victim  of  a  masquerading  joke;   but 
still  I  pity  you,  and  if  I  knew  where  your  mother  is  I  would 
bear  to  her  your  parting  words.     Farewell,  Signor. 

He  goes  out.  For  some  time  there  is  silence.  Then  all 
is  veiled  in  darkness,  and  the  sounds  of  wild  music 
grow  louder  and  draw  nearer. 

Curtain. 


SCENE    III 

The  ball  continues.  There  seem  to  be  more  Maskers.  The  hall 
is  more  crowded,  and  the  Maskers  are  restless  as  if  the 
strange,  mysteriously  altered  wine  were  having  its  effect 
upon  the  guests.  The  music,  though  it  ha^  grown  a  little 
languorous,  is  as  wild  as  before.  A  mournful  and  lovely 
melody  springs,  up,  as  it  were  accidentally,  in  the  chaos  of 
wild  and  turbulent  cries,  but  is  immediately  overwhelmed 
and  swept  away  upon  the  wind  like  a  withered  leaf  which, 
torn  from  its  branch,  flutters  in  circles  before  it  sinks  to  rest. 
Part  of  the  Maskers  continue  to  dance,  but  the  greater 
number,  perplexed  and  restless,  move  to  and  fro,  gathering 


32  THE  BLACK  MASKERS    act  i.    sc.  in 

jor  a  moment  in  groups  to  interchange  brief,  excited  remarks. 
The  Black  Maskers  wander  about  singly  in  the  throng. 
Hairy  and  black  from  foot  to  crown,  some  resembling  orang- 
outangs and  others  those  uncouth  hairy  insects  which  in 
\fhe  night-time  fly  toward  the  light,  they  move  along  the  walls 
wiih  a  guilty,  embarrassed,  and  somewhat  absent  air  and 
hide  in  the  corners.  But  curiosity  overcomes  their  shyness, 
and,  creeping  cautiously  about,  they  examine  various  ob- 
jects, holding  them  close  to  their  eyes.  They  touch  the  white 
marble  columns  with  their  hairy  black  fingers.  They  take 
in  tJieir  hands  the  costly  goblets,  only  to  drop  them  again, 
as  it  were,  helplessly.  The  Maskers  who  arrived  before 
them  are  manifestly  afraid  of  them. 


Voices:  Where  is  Lorenzo? 

—  Where  is  Lorenzo?  We  must  find  Lorenzo.  Did  no 
one  notice  where  the  Duke  went  ?  We  must  tell  him  now  or 
it  will  be  too  late. 

—  They  fly  toward  the  light. 

—  It  is  plain  that  they  are  here  for  the  first  time.  See 
how  they  look  at  everything,  with  what  curiosity  they  touch 
things.     Who  invited  them? 

—  They  were  not  invited.  They  came  of  their  own  ac- 
cord along  the  lighted  road. 

—  But  perhaps  they  are  some  of  our  friends. 

—  No,  no,  they  are  strangers. 

—  It  is  all  due  to  the  light  in  the  tower.     How  dreadful ! 

—  Crazy  Lorenzo !     Crazy  Lorenzo  !     Crazy  Lorenzo ! 

—  The  drawbridge  should  be  raised.  Then  they  cannot 
enter. 

—  Call  Lorenzo. 

A  Black  Masker  touches,  out  of  curiosity,  the  sleeve  of 
one  of  the  other  Maskers,  who  springs  back  affrighted. 


ACT  I.    sc.  in    THE  BLACK  MASKERS  35 

The  Masker.  What  do  you  wish,  sir  ?  I  do  not  know  you. 
Who  are  you  ?     Who  invited  you  here  ? 

The  Black  Masker.  I  do  not  know  who  I  am.    Some  one 
lighted  up  the  tower,  and  we  came.      It's  dark  out  there  and 
very  cold.     But  who  are  you  ?    I  do  not  know  you,  either. 
He  tries  to  embrace  the  Masker,  hut  the  latter  shrinks 
from  him. 
The  Masker.  Keep  your  hands  from  me,  sir,  or  I  will 
hew  ofiF  your  fingers. 

The  Black  Masker  moves  unsteadily  toward  the  fire 

burning  on  the  hearth  and  sits  cross-legged  to  warm 

himself.     His  fellows  join  him  and  in  a  black  ring 

encircle  the  fire,  which  immediately  begins  to  die  out. 

First  Black  Masker.  It's  cold,  it's  cold. 

Second  Black  Masker.  It's  cold. 

Third  Black  Masker.  Is  this  what  they  call  fire  ?  How 
beautiful  it  is !  Whose  house  is  this  ?  Why  didn't  we  come 
here  before  ? 

First  Black  Masker.  Because  we  were  then  unborn. 
The  light  begat  us. 

Second  Black  Masker.  Why  does  the  fire  go  out?  I 
love  it  so,  and  yet  it  goes  out.     Why  does  the  fire  go  out.'* 

A  Masker.  Duke  Lorenzo  is  a  traitor.  He  has  played 
us  false.  He  said  the  castle  was  ours.  Why,  then,  did  he 
invite  these  creatures? 

Second  Masker.  He  did  not  invite  them.  They  came  of 
themselves.  But  this  castle  is  ours,  and  we  will  have  the 
drawbridge  raised.  Ho !  Servants !  Servants  of  the  Duke 
Lorenzo  !  This  way  ! 
No  one  comes. 
Third  Masker.  The  servants  have  run  away.  Call  Lo- 
renzo.    Call  Lorenzo. 

The  Old  Women.  [Running  up  with  castanets]  The  bride- 


36  THE  BLACK  MASKERS    act  i.    sc.  m 

groom  is  coming.     The  bridegroom  is  coming.     The  bride- 
groom is  coming. 

Voices.  Lorenzo !    Lorenzo !    Ix)renzo ! 

Lorenzo  appears,  smiling,  on  the  staircase.  His  clothes 
are  torn.  On  his  bared  breast  is  a  large  blood-red  spot, 
but  he  seems  not  to  be  aware  of  it  and  bears  himself 
with  his  former  dignity  and  with  the  refinement  and 
reserve  of  a  prince  regent. 

Lorenzo.  Kindly  pardon  me,  my  friends,  for  presuming 
to  leave  you  for  a  moment.  You  can't  imagine,  my  dear 
guests,  what  an  amusing  and  diverting  trick  has  been  played 
upon  me.  I  have  just  met  a  very  clever  gentleman  who  had 
donned  the  mask  of  Duke  Lorenzo.  You  would  have  been 
amazed  at  the  striking  resemblance.  This  skilful  artist  had 
stolen  not  only  my  dress  but  even  my  voice  and  my  features. 
Really,  it's  amusing.  [He  laughs. 

A  Masker.  There  is  blood  on  you,  Lorenzo. 

Lorenzo.  [Glancing  at  himself  indifferently]  It  is  not  my 
blood.  I  think  [rubbing  his  forehead  thoughtfully],  I  think  I 
killed  that  jester.  Did  you  not  hear  falling  bodies,  gentle- 
men? 

A  Masker.  Duke  Lorenzo  is  a  murderer !  Whom  did  you 
kill,  Lorenzo? 

Lorenzo.  Pardon  me,  gentlemen,  but  really  I  do  not  know 
whom  I  did  kill.  He  lies  in  the  tower,  and  if  you  like  you 
may  take  a  look  at  him.  He  is  lying  there.  But  why  has 
the  music  ceased?  And  why,  my  dear  guests,  are  you  not 
dancing  ? 

A  Masker.  The  music  has  not  ceased,  Lorenzo. 

Lorenzo.  Oh,  really  ?  I  thought  it  was  the  wind,  merely 
a  violent  wind.  Dance,  my  friends.  Your  unbounded  joy 
delights  me.  Petruccio !  Cristoforo !  More  wine  for  my 
dear  guests.  [Sadly]  Ah,  to  be  sure  [he  laughs]y  I  have  lost 


ACT  I,    sc.m    THE  BLACK  MASKERS  37 

them  all — Petruccio,  Cristoforo,  and  Donna  Francesca.     So 
my  wife  was  called — Donna  Francesca.     A  charming  name, 

isn't  it?    Donna  Francesca 

The  number  of  the  BiiACK  Maskers  increases.  One  of 
them  mounts  the  stairs  and  addresses  himself  to  the 
Duke. 

The  Black  Masker.  Did  you  kindle  the  light? 

Lorenzo.  Who  are  you,  sir  ?  You  have  a  strange,  coarse 
voice,  and  I  think  I  did  not  invite  you.  How  did  you  gain 
admittance  ? 

The  Black  Masker.  Did  you  kindle  the  light? 

Lorenzo.  Yes,  my  charming  stranger.  I  had  my  castle 
lighted  up.     The  lights  shine  far,  do  they  not? 

The  Black  Masker.  You  roused  the  whole  night. 
Everything  is  astir  there,  and  now  the  night  is  coming 
hither.  No  harm  in  our  coming,  was  there  ?  Is  your  name 
Lorenzo?     Is  this  your  house?     Is  this  your  light? 

He  seeks  to  embrace  Lorenzo,  who  violently  thrusts  him 
away. 

The  Maskers.  [From  below]  Be  on  your  guard,  Lorenzo. 
Lorenzo,  your  castle  is  in  danger.  They  have  come  unin- 
vited. Have  the  drawbridge  raised  and  all  the  doors  tightly 
barred. 

A  Voice.  The  drawbridge  is  already  raised,  but  they  are 
clambering  over  the  walls. 

Another  Voice.  All  the  darkness  of  the  night  is  trans- 
formed into  living  creatures,  and  from  every  side  they  are 
coming  hither.     Bar  the  doors. 

A  Masker.  [From  belmo]  Lorenzo,  you  invited  us,  and  we 
are  your  guests.  You  must  protect  us.  Summon  your 
armed  guards  and  kill  these  creatures.  Otherwise  they  will 
kill  both  you  and  us. 

A  Third  Voice.  Look!    For  every  one  of  them  a  light 


38  THE  BLACK  MASKERS    act  i.    sc.  m 

goes  out.    They  devour  the  light.     They  put  the  light  out 
with  their  black  bodies. 

First  Voice.  Who  are  they  ?  They  love  the  light  and  yet 
they  put  it  out.  They  fly  to  the  light  and  the  light  goes  out. 
Who  are  they? 

Lorenzo.  What  a  delightful  jest,  Signors !  It's  very  clever 
of  you.  But  the  lights  are  actually  going  out,  and  it  is  be- 
coming strangely  cold  here.  May  I  trouble  some  of  you  to 
call  my  servants  ?  They  will  bring  fresh  lights.  I  really  do 
not  know  where  they  are. 

The  closed  doors  burst  open,  as  if  suddenly  yielding  to  a 
strong  pressure,  and  let  in  a  throng  of  Black  Mask- 
ers, and  at  the  same  instant  the  light  grows  markedly 
fainter.     The  Black  Maskers,  roaming  about  the 
hall  with  the  same  embarrassed  but  persistent  curiosity, 
gather  in  a  black  throng  around  the  fireplace,  completely 
extinguishing  the  already  enfeebled  blaze. 
The  Black  Maskers.  It's  cold,  cold,  cold. 
Voices.  Relight  the  candles.     They  are  going  out.     Who 
opened  the  doors  ?    Bring  torches.     Torches  ! 

In  the  confusion  that  ensu£s  several  of  the  guests  try  to 
close  the  doors,  but  give  back  before  the  pressure  of  the 
continually  increasing  throng  of  Black  Maskers. 
Others,  with  no  greater  success,  attempt  to  light  the  ex- 
tinguished chandeliers,  which  flare  up  but  immediately 
go  out  again.    Now  and  then  a  Masker  appears  with 
a  blazing  torch,  the  red,  flickering  light  filling  the  hall 
with  a  fantastic  dance  of  shadows. 
Lorenzo.  [Watching  the  scene  with  pleasure]  A  charming 
sight.     A  more  interesting  conflict  between  light  and  dark- 
ness it  has  never  been  my  good  fortune  to  witness.     A  thou- 
sand thanks  to  him  who  devised  it.    I  am  his  devoted,  life- 
long servant. 


ACT  I.    sc.  m    THE  BLACK  MASKERS  89 

Voices.  The  torches  are  going  out.    Bring  torches. 
A  Masker.  We  must  put  out  the  lights  in  the  tower.     This 
insane  Lorenzo  will  ruin  us  all. 

Second  Masker.  Some  one  has  already  gone  to  the  tower. 
The  Spider.  [Speaking  to  a  Black  Masker  tcmmrd  whom 
he  has  for  some  time  been  making  his  way]  Are  you  from  Satan  ? 
The  Black  Masker.  Who  is  Satan  .^^ 
The  Spider.  [Incredulously]  Why,  don*t  you  know  Satan  ? 
Who  sent  you  here .'' 

The  Black  Masker.  I  don't  know.     We  came  of  our  own 
accord. 

He  tries  to  embrace  The  Spider.     The  latter,  frightened, 
runs  away  on  wobbling  legs. 
Lorenzo.  Luigi,  you.  villain,  why  are  you  and  your  or- 
chestra silent  ?    Play,  I  beg  of  you,  that  song  of  mine —    Do 
you  remember  it  ?    Pardon  my  weak  voice,  gentlemen;  I  must 
refresh  the  memory  of  this  forgetful  singer.     Listen,  Luigi. 
He  runs  over  the  opening  bars  of  a  simple,  touching  air, 
such  as  Tnothers  sing  when  they  lull  their  children,  and 
strangely,  with  low  and  tender  harmonies,  the  strains  of 
the  orchestra  answer  to  the  song.    AU  else  is  silent. 
The  Black  Maskers,  in  awkward  and  ungainly  atti- 
tudes, listen  to  the  mu^ic,  gaping  with  vacant  curiosity. 
Only  at  the  door,  which  the  Maskers  hold  shut  by  the 
main  strength  of  their  shoulders,  there  is  a  knocking 
and  scratching  and  a  low,  plaintive  moaning.    Lo- 
renzo, closing  his  eyes  and  swaying  slightly,  sings  in 
a  low  voice.     Suddenly,  behind  him,  along  the  stair- 
way, echoes  the  trampling  of  many  feet,  distinctly 
audible  in  the  silence.     Several  Maskers  run  down 
the  staircase  past  Lorenzo,  jostling  him. 
Lorenzo.  [Gently  reproaching  them]  Gentlemen,  you  put 
me  out. 


40  THE  BLACK  MASKERS    act  i.    sc.  m 

One  of  the  Maskers.  [Panting]  Murder!  Murder! 
There  has  been  a  murder  in  the  tower. 

Voices.  Who  is  murdered? 

First  Masker.  Lorenzo  himself — Lorenzo,  the  Duke  of 
Spadaro,  lord  of  this  castle — is  murdered. 

Second  Masker.  We  saw  his  corpse.  The  unhappy  Duke 
lies  in  the  library,  pierced  by  a  rapier  thrust  from  behind. 
His  slayer  is  not  only  a  murderer  but  a  traitor. 

Lorenzo.  That  is  false,  gentlemen.  I  struck  him  in  the 
heart.  I  slew  him  in  honourable  combat.  He  defended  him- 
self savagely,  but  the  Lord  God  strengthened  my  hand,  and 
I  slew  him. 

Voices.  Vengeance,  gentlemen !  To  arms,  to  arms !  The 
Duke  of  Spadaro  is  treacherously  slain. 

First  Masker.  [Pointing  to  Lorenzo]  And  there  is  his 
murderer.     Off  with  your  mask,  sir ! 

Lorenzo.  My  mask  ?  [With  dignity]  It  is  true,  gentlemen, 
that  I  killed  some  one  in  the  tower — some  brazen  jester — but 
it  was  not  the  Duke  Lorenzo.     I  am  Duke  Lorenzo. 

Voices.  [Shouting]  Off  with  your  mask,  murderer ! 

Meanwhile  the  influx  of  the  Black  Maskers  and  the 
quenching  of  the  lights  continue.  Now  and  then  an- 
other torch  replaces  one  that  has  gone  out.  The  ensuing 
words  of  Lorenzo  and  the  Maskers  are  interrupted 
by  frequent  cries  of  "Bring  torches,  the  lights  are 
going  out.'* 

Lorenzo.  Why  do  you  think  that  I  am  masked,  gentle- 
men .''  [Feeling  of  his  face]  This  is  no  mask.  I  assure  you, 
gentlemen,  this  is  my  own  face. 

Voices.  Off  with  your  mask,  murderer ! 

Lorenzo.  [Flaring  up]  I  beg  you  to  give  over  this  unbe- 
coming jest.  I  swear  on  my  honour  that  this  is  the  face  that 
God  gave  me  when  I  was  born,  and  not  one  of  those  repulsive 


JT 


ACT  I.    8c.  m    THE  BLACK  MASKERS  41 

masks  that  I  see  on  you,  gentlemen.     A  mask  cannot  smile 
as  I  smile  in  answer  to  your  daring  jests. 

He  triesio  smiley  hut  his  lips  only  twitch  convulsively. 
For  a  moment,  with  teeth  bared,  he  presents  the  appear- 
ance of  a  frightful,  laughing  mask,  hut  instantly  his  face 
hecomes  motionless,  turns  pale,  and  stiffens. 
Lorenzo.  [Horrified]  What  is  this?     What  has  happened 
to  my  face.^     It  does  not  obey  me.     It  will  not  smile,  but 
grows  rigid.  [Piteously]  Perhaps  I  am  going  insane.     Just 
look  at  me,  gentlemen.     This  is  surely  not  a  mask.     It  is  a 
face — a  living,  human  face.  / 
Laughter  and  shouts:     "OfiF  with  your   mask,  mur- 
derer !     Look,  look !     Lorenzo  is  turning  to  stone.'* 
Lorenzo.  [His  face  turned  to  stone]  A\\  is  lost,  gentlemen. 
I  tried  to  smile  and  could  not.     I  tried  to  weep  and  could  not 
weep.     I  wear  a  mask  of  stone.     [He  grasps  his  face  in  a  fury, 
trying  to  tear  it  off]     I'll  tear  you  off,  accursed  mask,  I'll  tear 
you  off  together  with  the  flesh  and  blood.     Help  me.  Donna 
Francesca.     Cut  the  edge  here  a  bit  with  your  dagger  and 
it  will  at  once  fall  away  and  let  you  see  the  face  of  your  Lo- 
renzo.    Bring  your  consecrated  sword,  Cristoforo.     Save  your 
master,  whom  God  has  abandoned.     One  moment,  gentle- 
men, one  moment — I  will 

Be  Htters  a  wild  cry  and  falls.  At  the  same  instant  there 
is  a  crash  of  breaking  window-frames,  the  windows  are 
hurst  open,  and  through  them  pour  in  the  Black 
Maskers.  The  hall  is  dark  save  for  th:  tremulous 
light  of  two  remaining  torches,  and  presently  one  of 
these  goes  out.  A  commotion  arises  on  the  darkened 
stage.  There  are  wild  cries  of  terror  and  despair  and 
vain  efforts  to  escape.  Several  of  the  Black  Mask- 
ers mount  the  musicians'  balcony,  seize  the  horns,  and 
trumpet  vnldly. 


J 


42  THE  BLACK  MASKERS    act  i.    sc.  m 

A  Voice.  Do  you  hear?  They  are  blowing  the  trumpets. 
They  are  summoning  their  kin. 

Second  Voice.  That  is  their  music. 

Third  Voice.  Save  yourselves,  they  are  coming  through 
the  windows! 

First  Voice.  The  tower  is  full  of  them.  They  are  pouring 
down  from  it  like  a  black  torrent.     Bring  torches. 

Fourth  Voice.  There  are  no  more  torches.  This  is  the 
last. 

Many  Voices.  Save  yourselves,  save  yourselves ! 

Third  Voice.  They  hold  all  the  exits. 

A  Female  Voice.  He  is  embracing  me.  I  am  stifling.  I 
shall  die.  Save  me!  Among  so  many  knights  is  there  none 
to  protect  me? 

A  Voice.  To  arms ! 

Third  Voice.  Swords  are  powerless  against  them. 

Fourth  Voice.  There  is  no  way  of  escape.  We  are  lost! 
Crazy  Lorenzo  !     He  has  ruined  us  all ! 

The  Black  Maskers.  [Roaming  about,  one  by  one]  It's 

cold,  cold.     Where's  the  light?     Where's  the  fire?     They 
have  deceived  us! 

A  Voice.  [In  rage  and  despair]  You  have  devoured  the 
light,  you  brood  of  darkness! 

The  Black  Maskers.  It's  cold,  cold.  Where  is  the  light  ? 
Where  is  the  fire  ? 

They  crowd  around  the  last  torch,  which  one  of  the  Mask- 
ers holds  high  in  his  uplifted  hand,  seeking  to  keep  it 
alight.     The  torch  goes  out.     Darkness. 

Voices.  Crazy  Lorenzo !    Crazy  Lorenzo !    Crazy  Lorenzo! 

Curtain. 


ACT  II 

SCENE    IV 

A  comer  of  the  chapel  in  the  feudal  castle. 

The  walls  are  draped  in  black  in  sign  of  mourning.  The  tall, 
dust-laden  windows  of  coloured  glass  admit  a  feeble,  softly 
tinted  light.  On  a  black  dais,  in  a  massive  black  cojffln,  lies 
the  body  of  Lorenzo,  Duke  of  Spadaro.  At  each  corner  of 
the  coffin  is  a  huge  wax  candle.  On  the  dais  at  the  head  of 
the  coffin,  in  the  soft  glow  of  the  candles,  stands  Duke  Lo- 
renzo, dressed  entirely  in  black,  his  hand  resting  on  the  bier. 

From  the  courtyard  of  the  castle  comes  at  intervals  the  whining 
and  barking  of  Hunting-dogs.  Now  and  then  a  prolonged 
and  mournful  blare  of  trumpets  carries  abroad  the  sad  news 
of  the  death  of  the  Duke  of  Spadaro.  In  the  intervals  of 
silence  the  solemn  notes  of  an  organ  and  the  voice  of  a  priest 
care  be  heard  at  one  side  beyond  the  glass  doors  leading  to 
the  other  half  of  the  chapel.  Mass  is  being  conducted  there 
uninterruptedly. 

Lorenzo.  [To  the  one  lying  in  the  coffin]  The  whole  neigh- 
bourhood has  by  now  been  informed  of  your  death,  Duke 
Lorenzo,  and  in  tears  is  calling  for  vengeance  on  your  mur- 
derer. Lie  still,  Signor.  Those  who  loved  you  are  now  com- 
ing to  pay  their  respects  to  your  dust.  The  peasants  will 
come,  and  your  servants,  and  your  inconsolable  widow. 
Donna  Francesca.  But  I  beseech  you,  Lorenzo,  lie  quiet. 
I  have  already  had  the  honour  of  running  my  sword  through 
your  unworthy  heart,  but  if  you  stir,  if  you  dare  to  speak  or 
cry  out,  I  will  tear  your  heart  clean  from  your  breast  and 

43 


44  THE  BLACK  MASKERS    acth.    sc.iv 

throw  it  to  your  hunting-dogs.  In  the  name  of  our  former 
friendship,  I  beseech  you,  Lorenzo,  lie  quiet.  [He  arranges 
the  shroud  with  tender  solicitude  and  kisses  the  corpse  on  the 
forehead.  At  this  moment  in  the  corner  of  the  chapel,  in  the 
folds  of  the  black  drapery,  is  heard  a  deep  sigh  and.  the  plaintive 
tinkling  of  bells]  Who's  there?  Oh,  is  that  you,  my  little 
Ecco,  hidden  in  the  corner  and  softly  tinkling  your  little 
bells  ?     Who  let  you  in  ? 

Ecco.  Why  did  you  die,  Lorenzo?  Foolish  Lorenzo! 
Why  did  you  die  ? 

Lorenzo.  I  had  to  die,  Ecco. 

Ecco.  Then  I  shall  die  with  you,  Lorenzo.  Your  servants 
use  me  ill.  Your  dogs'  teeth  are  sharp.  All  day  I  lay  hid 
in  the  tower,  waiting  for  the  door  of  the  chapel  to  open.  Do 
not  drive  me  away,  Lorenzo. 

Lorenzo.  You  shall  stay  here,  jester. 

Ecco.  What  a  long,  white  nose  you  have,  Lorenzo.  It 
must  be  embarrassing  to  have  such  a  nose  and  to  be  com- 
pelled to  hold  it  up  like  that.  I  would  laugh  if  it  were  not 
so  frightful. 

Lorenzo.  That  is  death,  Ecco.  But  hide  yourself,  some 
one  is  coming. 

Ecco  conceals  himself.  Several  Peasants  enter  and 
bow  low  at  a  little  distance  from  the  coffin,  not  ven- 
turing to  come  nearer. 

Lorenzo.  [Impressively]  Duke  Lorenzo,  open  your  heart 
and  return  to  life  for  a  moment.  Your  good  peasants  have 
come  to  bid  you  farewell.  Come  nearer,  my  friends.  Duke 
Lorenzo  in  his  lifetime  was  a  kind  master,  and  now  that  he 
is  dead  he  will  not  harm  you.     Draw  nearer. 

The  Peasants  approach,  though  it  is  apparent  that 
they  are  still  afraid. 

First  Peasant.  God  forgive  you,  Duke  Lorenzo,  as  I  for- 


ACT  n.    sc.  IV    THE  BLACK  MASKERS  45 

give  you.  Many  a  time  you  and  your  hunters  have  trampled 
down  my  fields  of  grain,  and  what  the  hoofs  of  your  horses 
left  untouched  your  kind  overseer  took  for  himself,  depriving 
me  and  my  family  of  bread.  Yet  you  were  a  good  master, 
and  I  pray  God  to  forgive  you  your  sins. 

Lorenzo.  [To  the  one  lying  in  the  coffi,n]  Quiet,  sir,  quiet. 
I  understand  how  it  is  with  you:  you  cannot  hear  unmoved 
this  bitter  truth  about  your  evil  deeds.  But  do  not  forget 
that  you  are  dead.     Lie  quiet,  sir,  lie  quiet. 

A  Peasant  Woman.  May  God  forgive  you,  Duke  Lorenzo, 
as  I  forgive  you.  You  took  my  little  daughter  from  me  for 
your  ducal  pleasure,  and  she  was  ruined.  But  you  were 
young  and  handsome,  and  you  were  a  good  master  to  us.  I 
pray  God  to  forgive  you  your  sins.  [She  weeps. 

Lorenzo.  [To  the  one  lying  in  the  coffin]  Quiet,  sir,  quiet. 
I  remember  how  you  loved  the  blue  corn-flowers  amid  the 
ripened  grain.  Does  not  this  remind  you  of  some  one's  blue 
eyes,  of  some  one's  golden  hair  ? 

Second  Peasant.  On  the  very  eve  of  your  departure  for 
Palestine,  Duke  Lorenzo,  to  deliver  the  Holy  Sepulchre,  my 
son  was  killed  in  j^our  service.  A  poor  service  you  rendered 
to  the  Lord,  Duke  Lorenzo,  and  you  shall  have  no  forgive- 
ness either  on  earth  or  in  heaven. 

Lorenzo.  [Setting  his  teeth]  Did  you  hear,   sir.?^  [To  the 
Peasants]  Return   in    peace   to  your  homes,   my   friends. 
Duke  Lorenzo  has  heard  you,  and  he  will  humbly  bear  your 
every  word  to  the  throne  of  the  Almighty. 
The  Peasants  withdraw. 

Lorenzo.  [To  the  one  lying  in  the  coffin]  Lorenzo,  insane 
Lorenzo,  what  have  you  done  to  me  ? 

Enter  Signor  Cristoforo,  slightly  tipsy.  He  kneels 
unsteadily  and  for  some  time  is  silent.  Ecco  peeps 
from  his  hiding-place,  then  conceals  himself  again. 


/; 


46  THE  BLACK  MASKERS    act  n.    sc.  iv 

Lorenzo.  He  is  listening.  Signer  Cristoforo. 

Cristoforo.  [Swaying  to  and  fro]  Duke  di  Spadaro !  Lo- 
renzo !  Boy !  How  lonely  I  am  without  you.  Forgive  me, 
my  poor  boy.  When  your  noble  father  and  I  returned  from 
Palestine  and  you  were  born — and  a  little,  red  chap  you  were 
— I  swore  to  your  father  that  I  would  always  protect  you. 
And  I  have  protected  your  wines.  Pardon  me,  Lorenzo,  but 
they  drink  like  camels.  To-day,  however,  having  opened  all 
the  cellars,  I  knocked  out  the  heads  of  the  casks  and  slit  all 
the  skins  and  said:  "Drink,  you  camels,  you  asses,  you  ac- 
cursed sponges.  I  shall  gird  on  my  sword  and  go  seek  the 
murderer  of  my  boy,  of  my  dear  Lorenzo." 

[He  wipes  his  eyes  with  his  fist  and  staggers  to  his  feet. 

Lorenzo.  [With  dignity]  The  Duke  thanks  you,  Cristo- 
foro. You  are  drunk,  my  old  friend,  but  at  your  words  the 
lips  of  his  wound  have  opened  and  two  crimson  drops  have 
welled  up  from  the  depths  of  his  heart.  They  are  yours, 
Cristoforo.     Go. 

Cristoforo  withdraws.     Ecco  creeps  out,  tinkling  his 
bells. 

Ecco.  Have  you  nothing  for  me,  Lorenzo.'*  Give  me  at 
least  one  little  drop  of  blood  from  your  heart.  I  am  tired  of 
being  ill-tempered  and  deformed. 

Lorenzo.  I  will  give  you  more  than  that,  Ecco.  Come 
and  kiss  me. 

Ecco.  I  am  afraid. 

Lorenzo.  He  loved  you,  little  coward. 

Ecco.  If  you  were  alive,  Lorenzo,  I  should  be  glad  to  kiss 
you,  but  I  am  afraid  of  corpses.  Why  did  you  die,  Lorenzo  ? 
It  was  unkind  of  you.  [He  seats  himself  on  the  floor,  curling 
his  legs  under  him  as  if  getting  ready  for  a  long  and  interesting 
conversation]  You  see,  Lorenzo,  we  must  go  away.  You  look 
upon  me  as  a  jester  and  do  not  take  me  seriously,  but  once 


Acrn.    sc.iv    THE  BLACK  MASKERS  47 

when  you  were  playing  with  me  you  touched  me  with  your 
sword,  and  now  I  am  just  as  much  a  knight  as  you  are,  Lo- 
renzo. So  listen  to  me.  Cease  being  dead,  take  your  sword, 
and  we  will  go  away  together  like  two  knights. 

Lorenzo.  [Smiling]  Whither,  my  doughty  knight  ? 

Ecco.  To  the  Lord  God!  [With  growing  animation]  He 
knows  you,  Lorenzo,  and,  as  for  me,  you  will  tell  him  that  I 
am  your  brother,  a  little  hunchback.  And  when  he  has  sanc- 
tified our  swords —  Oh,  oh,  Lorenzo,  there  come  your  ruf- 
fians!   I  am  afraid;  I  will  hide  myself. 

He  conceals  himself.  A  hand  of  drunken,  boisterous 
Servants  com£  in,  reeling  and  jostling  one  another. 
Several  keep  their  hats  on. 

Lorenzo.  [Angrily]  Off  with  your  hats,  you  villains !  Lie 
quiet,  sir,  lie  quiet. 

PiETRO.  Bah!  He's  already  beginning  to  stink.  Who- 
ever wishes  can  go  and  kiss  his  hand.     I  won't. 

Mario.  I'd  rather  kiss  Donna  Francesca.     Of  all  the  ladies 
I  have  seen,  she  pleases  me  best.     You  see,  gentlemen,  the 
inclination  is  inherited;   my   uncle  kissed   Duke  Lorenzo's 
mother,  so  I  want  to  kiss  his  wife. 
Laughter. 

Lorenzo.  I  implore  you,  sir,  be  quiet.  I  see  how  the 
black  blood  surges  in  your  wound,  but  it  is  another's  blood, 
Lorenzo. 

Manucci.  Pietro,  you  have  stolen  one  of  my  golden  spurs. 
To-morrow  I  shall  flay  you  for  it. 

Pietro.  And  I'll  lop  off  your  nose. 

Lorenzo.  Away  with  you,  you  villains;  be  off! 

He  half  draws  his  sword.  The  Servants  look  about 
in  fright. 

Pietro.  Did  you  say  that,  Mario  ? 


48  THE  BLACK  MASKERS    actu.    sc.  iv 

Mario.  Sh!    I  heard  the  voice  of  the  dead  Duke»  old 
Henry.    Let's  be  off. 

Manucci.  I'll  have  the  hide  of  you  yet. 
Mario.    Come,  let's  be  off. 

They  go  out. 
Lorenzo.  [To  the  one  lying  in  the  cofin,  contempttumsly] 
And  these,  sir,  are  your  servants,  to  whom  you  intrusted 
your  castle,  your  treasures,  and  your  wife,  the  beautiful 
Donna  Francesca.  Let  us  have  no  charges  of  disloyalty  or 
treason,  unhappy  Duke.  Do  not  insult  me  with  lying  eva- 
sions nor  stain  your  honourable  grave  with  sin.  [Greatly 
agitated]  Be  calm,  sir,  be  calm.  I  hear  Donna  Francesca 
coming.  I  recognise  her  step,  and  I  implore  you,  sir,  in  the 
name  of  God,  lie  quiet.     Summon  your  strength,  sir. 

Silence.     The  mournful  notes  of  the  requiem  from  behind 
the  wall  grow  louder.     Lorenzo,  bending  forward  and 
laying  his  hand  upon  his  hearty  awaits  the  appear- 
ance of  Donna  Francesca.    She  enters  alone,  clad 
in  deep   mourning.     She   kneels.     Silence.     During 
the  following  scene  Ecco  comes  partly  out  from  the 
black  drapery  and  weeps  bitterly,  softly  tinkling  his 
bells. 
Lorenzo.  [Unable  to  control  himself]  I  love  you,  Francesca. 
Francesca.  [In  a  low  voice]  I  love  you,  Lorenzo. 
Lorenzo.  [Sadly]  But  you  see  that  I  am  dead,  Francesca. 
Francesca.  To  me,  Lorenzo,  you  will  always  be  alive. 
Lorenzo.  [Sadly]  You  will  forget  me.  Donna  Francesca. 
Francesca.  I  shall  never  forget  you,  Lorenzo. 
Lorenzo.  [Sadly]  You  are  young.  Donna  Francesca. 
Francesca.  In  a  single  night  my  heart  has  grown  old, 
Lorenzo. 

Lorenzo.  [Sadly]  Your  face  is  beautiful.  Donna  Francesca. 
[Gently  reproachful]  Bitter  tears  have  not  dulled  the  bright 


ACTH.   sc.iv    THE  BLACK  MASKERS  49 

gleam  of  your  eyes,  O  Donna  Francesca!  Bitter  tears  have 
not  washed  the  delicate  roses  from  your  cheeks,  O  Donna 
Francesca!  Your  black  mourning  does  not  conceal  the  grace 
and  beauty  of  your  form,  O  Donna  Francesca,  O  Donna 
Francesca! 

Francesca.  The  light  has  gone  out  of  my  eyes,  Lorenzo. 
My  face  has  withered  as  a  leaf  withers  at  the  cruel  touch  of 
the  sirocco,  and  my  form  is  bowed  to  the  earth  in  bitter  and 
overwhelming  grief. 

Lorenzo.  That  is  not  true,  Francesca. 

Francesca.  I  swear  it,  Lorenzo. 

Lorenzo.  [His  voice  trembling]  Lie  still,  sir,  lie  still.  I  see 
how  your  heart  heaves,  Lorenzo.  I  see  how  your  tortured 
heart  quivers  at  the  pitiless  words  of  love,  and  I  pity  you, 
Lorenzo.  Go,  Donna  Francesca.  Leave  me  with  my  dead 
friend.  Your  beautiful  grief  tears  at  our  hearts,  and  I  im- 
plore you  in  the  name  of  God  to  leave  us. 
Donna  Francesca  weeps. 

Lorenzo.  [In  an  agony  of  grief]  O  Donna  Francesca !  O 
my  love !  O  light  of  my  youth !  [Covering  his  face  with  his 
hands,  he  weeps  silently]  Draw  nearer,  Francesca.  Kiss  him. 
I  will  not  look. 

Francesca,  sobbing  convulsively^  kisses  the  dead  Lo- 
renzo. 

Lorenzo.  [Covering  his  face  with  his  hands]  Kiss  him  more 
ardently,  Donna  Francesca,  for  you  will  never  see  him  again. 
Kiss  him  more  ardently.  God  placed  a  sword  in  my  hand, 
and  with  it  I  punished  the  insane  Lorenzo.  But  still  he  was 
a  knight.  He  was  a  Knight  of  the  Holy  Ghost,  Francesca. 
And  now  leave  us. 

Ecco,  frightened,  conceals  himself.    Donna  Francesca. 
in  tears,  descends  from  the  dais,  kneels  again,  and 


50  THE  BLACK  MASKERS    act  n.    sc.  v 

withdraws.  Silence.  The  last  mournful  strains  of 
the  funeral  dirge  are  heard. 
Lorenzo.  [To  the  one  lying  in  the  coffin]  I  thank  you  for 
obeying  my  behest  and  lying  quiet.  I  saw  how  hard  it  was 
for  you,  and  again  I  thank  you,  Lorenzo.  Now  we  are  alone 
— now  and  for  ever.  Let  us  go,  Lorenzo;  let  us  go  into  the 
unknown  future. 

The  stage  is  suddenly  dark. 

Curtain. 


SCENE   V 

The  same  hall  as  in  Scene  I.  It  is  toward  evening.  Through 
the  half -open  window  mountain  peaks  are  seen  glowing  in 
the  last  rays  of  the  setting  sun.  A  fire  burns  in  the  fire- 
place. A  number  of  candles  are  burning,  but  two  Ser- 
vants, moving  along  the  wall,  continue  to  light  others. 
Silence. 

PiETRO.  Why  have  they  ordered  so  many  candles  to  be 
/  lighted  ?  Is  any  one  expected  to-day  ?  I  have  heard  noth- 
ing of  it. 

Mario.  Hold  your  tongue,  stupid.  You  talk  as  if  you 
didn't  know. 

PiETRO.  [Gruffly]  How  should  I  know?  They  call  me  in 
when  they  need  me,  but  as  soon  as  anything  goes  wrong  they 
shout:   "Begone!" 

Mario.  Everybody  knows.  The  townspeople  of  Spadaro 
came  up  to  the  castle  to-day.  So  they  know,  too.  You're 
the  only  one  that  hasn't  heard. 

PiETRp.  I  don't  care  to  hear.  Only  tell  me,  why  so  many 
lights? 


ACT  II.    sc.  V    THE  BLACK  MASKERS  51 

Mario.  Because  Duke  Lorenzo  has  so  ordered. 

PiETRO.  But  why  did  he  so  order  ? 

Mario.  Because  to-day  Duke  Lorenzo  is  expecting  guests. 

PiETRO.  Well,  I  said  myself  that  there  were  to  be  guests. 
You  might  have  told  me  in  the  beginning. 

Mario.  [Sighing]  You're  stupid,  Pietro.  There  will  be 
no  guests  to-day.     It's  only  that  Lorenzo  expects  them. 

Pietro.  How  can  he  expect  them  if  they  are  not  coming  ? 

Mario.  He  imagines  that  they  are  coming.  Do  you  un- 
derstand, stupidity.''  He  only  imagines  it.  Probably  you, 
when  you  are  drunk,  imagine  things  also.  Why  did  you  cry 
out  yesterday  in  your  drunken  sleep  ? 

Pietro.  I  dreamt  that  Signor  Cristoforo  was  beating  me 
with  his  cane. 

Mario.  There,  now.     You  see,  don't  you  ? 

Pietro.  Well,  is  the  Duke,  then,  drunk  ?  [He  laughs, 

Petruccio,  the  overseer,  enters. 

Petruccio.  Lively,  now,  you  lazybones,  lively!  You, 
there,  Pietro,  what  are  you  yawning  about  ? 

Mario.  My  dear  Signor  Petruccio,  you  are  so  wise  that 
even  Signor  Cristoforo  listens  to  you.  Explain  to  this  fool 
what  has  happened  to  our  Duke. 

Petruccio.  That,  my  fine  fellows,  is  none  of  your  aflFair. 

Pietro.  There,  you've  got  your  explanation.  Which  of 
us  is  the  fool  now  ? 

Petruccio.  [Gazing  at  the  ceiling]  Both  of  you.  The  Duke 
is  simply  indisposed.     He  has  delirium. 

Pietro.  But  why  so  many  lights .''  ^     "■» 

Petruccio.  Because —    Clear  out ! 

Enter  Cristoforo.   Pietro  hows  low  heffore  him, 

Petruccio.  Good  evening,  Signor. 

Cristoforo.  Ah,  Petruccio,  Petruccio,  when  will  you  be- 
come thin  po  that  you  may  contain  less  wine? 


52  THE  BLACK  MASKERS    act  ii.    sc.  v 

Petruccio.  If  I  become  any  thinner  I  shall  be  like  a  long 
drain-pipe,  which,  letting  everything  flow  through,  contains 
naught. 

Cristoforo.  [Threatening  him  with  his  finger]  Take  care, 
take  care,  Signor  Overseer.  [Sighs]  Well,  drink  all  you  like, 
Petruccio.  No  one  is  left  to  save  the  wine  for.  Poor  Lo- 
renzo, poor  Lorenzo !  Little  did  I  think,  when  we  returned 
from  Palestine  with  his  father,  that  so  horrible  a  fate  was  in 
store  for  the  proud  family  of  the  Dukes  of  Spadaro.  What 
has  come  over  him.?^  Where  hovers  his  immortal  soul.?  I 
looked  him  in  the  eyes  to-day  with  a  gaze  that  might  have 
pierced  the  head  of  a  wine-cask,  but  he  merely  smiled  at  me 
and,  in  a  voice  that  would  have  brought  tears  to  the  eyes  of 
a  heathen  Turk,  said  gently:  "Who  are  you.^^  I  don't  know 
you.     Take  off  your  mask,  Signor." 

Petruccio.  Indeed,  indeed !  but  that  is  amazing,  Signor 
Cristoforo. 

Cristoforo.  **My  boy,"  I  said  to  him,  "Duke  Lorenzo, 
just  stop  and  think.  If  this  were  a  mask,  then  what  a  hor- 
rible mask  I  should  be  wearing."  [Wiping  away  his  tears] 
"My  boy,"  I  said,  "Duke  Lorenzo,  just  touch  with  your 
finger  this  scar  that  I  received  in  defending  the  Holy  Sepul- 
chre.    Do  masks  have  such  scars  .f' " 

Mario.  Really,  really !    Holy  Virgin ! 

Cristoforo.  And  Lorenzo  put  his  finger  on  the  scar  and 

said:   "  Wha^t  a  wretched  mask,  Signor;  it  is  apparently  made 

of  two  pieces  sewed  together."     Poor  Lorenzo,  poor  Lorenzo! 

Ecco  appears  and  shrinks  into  a  corner,  making  himself 

as  small  as  possible^     He  sighs  deeply. 

Petruccio.  You  see  that  Ecco,  too,  is  sad,  Signor.  It's 
an  ill  thing  in  a  house  when  the  jester  takes  to  sighing  like 
a  half -frozen  dog.  Man  cannot  live  without  laughter,  Signor 
Cristoforo.     When  laughter  dies  the  man  dies  too.     Laugh, 


ACT  II.    sc.  V    THE  BLACK  MASKERS  53 

Ecco.     Even  if  you  utter  no  word,  at  least  laugh,  and  you 
will  cheer  my  soul. 

Ecco.  [With  a  deep  sigh]  I  cannot,  Signor  Petruccio. 

Cristoforo.  Don't  you  find  my  queer  moustachios  very 
amusing  ? 

Ecco.  [With  a  deep  sigh]  Very,  Signor  Cristoforo. 

Cristoforo.  Then  why  don't  you  laugh  ? 

Ecco.  I  cannot,  Signor  Cristoforo. 

Petruccio.  There,  you  see  for  yourself.  Laughter  is  dead. 
Poor  Lorenzo ! 

Cristoforo.  Yes.     Poor  Lorenzo ! 

All  the  candles  are  now  lighted  and  the  Servants 
withdraw. 

Petruccio.  Mario,  go  tell  Donna  Francesca  that  the  can- 
dles are  lighted  and  all  is  in  readiness — for  the  reception  of 
the  guests. 

Cristoforo.  What  guests,  pray,  can  there  be,  Signor 
Overseer  ? 

Petruccio.  [With  a  gesture  of  despair]  And  you,  Pietro,  \ 
go  and  see  that  the  drawbridge  is  lowered. 

Cristoforo.  What  for  ? 

Petruccio.  The  Duke  so  ordered. 

Cristoforo.  Lorenzo  .^^  Why  do  you  take  orders  from 
him.'* 

Petruccio.  If,  Signor  Cristoforo,  you  had  heard  his  voice 
and  seen  his  gesture  of  command,  you  would  have  obeyed 
him  too. 

Cristoforo.  I.''    Never. 

Ecco.  You  would  have  obeyed,  Signor  Cristoforo,  as  I 
obeyed.  What  was  I?  A  little,  malicious  dwarf  found  in 
the  castle  moat.  When  he  so  willed,  I  became  his  laughter. 
And  what  shall  I  now  become  ?  It  is  not  for  you  to  judge, 
gentlemen.     I  shall  be  whatever  my  master,  Lorenzo,  Bids. 


^' 


54  THE  BLACK  MASKERS    act  ii.    sc.  v 

Petruccio.  His  tears  ? 

Ecco.  [Sighing]  No. 

Cristoforo.  His  fears  ? 

Ecco.  [Sighing]  No,  his  fire.     I  was  his  tears.     I  do  not 

know,  Signor  Cristoforo,  if  I  was  his  fears,  but  now  I  shall 

become  his  fire.     He  said  to  me,  as  he  said  to  you:  "Who 

are  you,  sir?    I  do  not  know  you.     Take  off  your  mask." 

And  I  fell  to  weeping,  gentlemen,  and  replied:  "Very  well, 

^  Lorenzo.     If  you  bid  me,  I  will  take  off  my  mask.'* 

'     Cristoforo.  No,  Ecco,  you  were  better  when  you  smiled. 

Enter  Signora  Francesca  with  her  suite  of  ladies  and 

gentlemen.     They  move  silently  and  sadly  about  the 

holly  embarrassed  by  its  emptiness  and  the  brilliant 

lights. 

A  Gentleman.  [In  a  low  voice]  It  seems  an  eternity  since 
I  kissed  you  last,  Leonora. 

Leonora.  And  it  will  be  an  eternity  before  you  kiss  me 
again,  sir. 

The  Gentleman.  How  cruel  you  are,  my  goddess.  As  if 
one  eternity  were  not  enough. 

Donna  Francesca.  I  beg  of  you,  ladies  and  gentlemen, 
to  do  me  a  favour.  You  are  no  doubt  aware  that  the  Duke, 
my  husband,  is  somewhat  indisposed.  He  is  expecting  guests, 
though  none  are  invited,  and  since  he  will  probably  assume, 
my  dear  friends,  that  you  are  his  guests,  I  beg  of  you  not  to 
express  surprise  or  alarm.  The  Duke's  memory  is  somewhat 
impaired,  so  that  he  forgets  even  persons  who  are  dear  to 
him.  Divert  him,  gently  and  cautiously,  from  his  illusions. 
I  count  on  your  tact  and  kindness,  my  friends.  Announce 
to  Duke  Lorenzo  [covering, her  face  with  her  hands]  that  the 
guests  are  arriving. 

Ecco.  [Sighing]  I  was  his  laughter.  I  was  his  tears. 
What  shall  I  now  become  ?  [He  rises  and  starts  to  go  out. 


ACT  n.    sc.  V    THE  BLACK  MASKERS  55 

Cristoforo.  Where  are  you  going,  Ecco  ? 

Ecco.  Where  the  will  of  my  master  may  lead  me. 

Francesca.  Signor  Petruccio,  I  trust  that  you  have  not 
forgotten  the  musicians.  Have  they  learned  the  music  that 
Duke  Lorenzo  composed  for  them  ? 

Petruccio.  The  musicians  only  await  your  instructions, 
madam. 

Voices.  Silence!    Silence!    Duke    Lorenzo!    Duke    Lo- 


renzo 


On  the  brilliantly  illuminated  staircase  appears  Duke 

Lorenzo.     He  wears  the  same  costume  as  at  the  ball, 

even  to  the  torn  doublet,  which  exposes  the  spot  of  blood 

on  his  breast  over  his  heart.     His  face  is  very  pale. 

He  pauses  and,  looking  radiantly  about  the  brilliantly 

lighted  hall,  bows  with  an  air  of  gracious  hospitality. 

Lorenzo.  I  am  delighted  to  welcome  you,  my  dear  guests. 

From  this  moment  my  castle  is  at  your  disposal.     I  am  merely 

your  servant.     Petruccio,  is  the  roadway  lighted  ? 

Petruccio.  It  is  lighted,  sir. 

Lorenzo.  Do  not  forget,  my  friend,  that  the  whole  night 
is  watching  us.  We  will  show  it,  sir,  what  is  meant  by  a 
bright  and  living  fire.  [He  coTnes  down]  What  charming  masks ! 
I  am  happy,  my  friends,  to  be  honoured  by  your  presence. 
I  am  infinitely  charmed  by  your  inexhaustible  cleverness  and 
wit.  Who  are  you,  sir?  I  do  not  know  you.  Please  re- 
move your  mask,  that  I  may  extend  to  you  a  friendly  greeting. 
Cristoforo.  [On  the  verge  of  tears]  It  is  I,  Lorenzo.  I  am 
Cristoforo.     Do  you  not  know  me  ? 

Lorenzo.  [With  touching  candour]  Why,  how  should  I  know 
you,  sir,  when  you  wear  so  frightful  a  mask  ?  I  knew  a  Signor 
Cristoforo.  He  was  my  friend  from  the  cradle,  and  I  loved 
him,  but  you  I  do  not  know.  Remove  your  mask,  my  dear 
sir,  I  beseech  you. 


56  THE  BLACK  MASKERS    act  ii.    sc.  v 

Cristoforo.  I  were  better  thrown  to  the  dogs.  I  can  bear 
no  more. 

Francesca.  Signor  Cristoforo ! 

Lorenzo.  What  ails  the  gentleman  ?  Why  does  his  mask 
change  so  oddly?  I  am  extremely  sorry,  sir,  and  I  should 
be  infinitely  pleased  to  learn  who  you  are,  but,  pardon  me, 
I  do  not  recognise  you.  And  who  is  this  funny  fat  gentle- 
man with  the  red  nose  ?     What  a  comical  mask ! 

Petruccio.  I  have  just  had  the  honour,  sir —  I  am  Pe- 
truccio,  your  overseer. 

Lorenzo.  You  mean  you  are  wearing  the  mask  of  Petruccio. 

Petruccio.  Yes,  the  mask  of  Petruccio. 

Lorenzo.  [Laughing]  A  bad  bargain,  my  dear  sir.  You 
made  a  poor  choice.  My  overseer  is  a  great  rascal  and  a 
knave,  and  his  red  nose  did  not  come  from  praying. 

Cristoforo.  My  poor  boy ! 

Lorenzo.  Ah,  now  I  think  of  it,  has  any  one  of  you  gentle- 
men seen  a  masker  in  red  entwined  with  a  serpent  that 
stings  her  in  the  heart.?  Right  in  this  spot.  They  say 
[laughing] — they  say  [laughing]  that  it  is  my  heart.  A  cap- 
ital joke !  As  if  every  one  did  not  know  that  Lorenzo,  Duke 
of  Spadaro,  has  no  serpent  in  his  heart. 

One  of  the  Guests.  [Incautiously]  You  have  wounded 
yourself  on  something,  Duke  Lorenzo.  There  is  blood  on 
your  doublet. 

Lorenzo.  [Eagerly]  Oh,  that.?  Thereby  hangs  a  very 
strange  story,  gentlemen.  It  sounds  like  a  fairy-tale.  While 
I  was  in  the  tower,  some  stranger  who  had  concealed  his  face 
under  a  hideous  mask,  extinguished  the  light,  fell  upon  me 
in  the  darkness,  and  stabbed  me  in  the  back.  As  you  see, 
gentlemen,  the  dagger  entered  under  the  left  shoulder-blade 
and  came  out  here  at  the  breast.  It  was  a  skilful,  if  treach- 
erous, stroke.     My  heart  was  pierced  straight  through, 


ACT  II.    8c.  V    THE  BLACK  MASKERS  57 

Francesca.  [Endeavouring  to  distract  honE^zo' a  attention 
from  the  woundy  which,  throwing  open  his  doublet,  fie  eagerly 
displays]  Lorenzo ! 

Lorenzo.  See,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  what  a  master-stroke ! 

Francesca.  Look  at  me,  Lorenzo.  Why  do  you  not  smile 
upon  me  ?  I  am  sad  when  you  do  not  smile.  It  is  as  if  the 
sun  had  set  for  ever. 

Lorenzo.  You  are  charming,  Signora.  I  see  only  your 
supple  figure  and  your  tiny  foot,  but  permit  me,  my  divinity, 
to  make  so  bold  as  to  peep  into  your  eyes —  How  they  shine ! 
Even  through  the  openings  of  this  ugly  black  mask  I  can  see 
how  beautiful  they  are.  Who  are  you,  madam  ?  I  do  not 
know  you. 

Francesca.  God  in  heaven!  Do  you  not  recognise  me, 
Lorenzo  ? 

Lorenzo.  [With  the  same  touching  candour  as  before]  Take 
off  j'our  mask,  madam,  I  beseech  you.  Your  question  is  a 
strange  one.  Take  off  your  mask,  madam,  and  I  will  greet 
you  willingly  and  cordially.  By  your  stature  I  should  take 
you  to  be  Signora  Emilia;  but  no  [he  shakes  his  head],  Signora 
Emilia  is  not  so  shapely.     Who  are  you  ? 

Francesca.  [Weeping]  I  am  your  wife,  Lorenzo,  your  wife. 
Donna  Francesca.  My  love,  do  you  not  remember  that 
name — Francesca  ? 

Lorenzo.  [Knitting  his  brmvs]  Francesca.'*  Did  you  say 
Francesca?  Yes,  that  was  my  wife's  name.  True,  that 
was  my  wife's  name.  But  I  have  lost  my  wife.  Have  you 
not  heard,  madam  ?     There  is  no  Donna  Francesca  any  more. 

Francesca.  Remember  how  you  loved  me,  Lorenzo. 
Look  into  my  eyes.  You  said  that  among  a  thousand  women 
you  would  recognise  me  by  the  eyes  alone.  Listen  to  my 
voice,  Lorenzo — you  are  not  looking  at  me. 

Lorenzo.  [Gently  reproachful]  Your  voice  is  tender  and 


58  THE  BLACK  MASKERS    act  ii.    sc.  v 

kind,  my  lady.  I  hear  in  it  the  utterance  of  a  virgin  heart. 
Why  do  you  inflict  this  painful  jest  upon  me?  You  are 
cruel,  my  dear  lady.  You  should  not  mock  Lorenzo  or  twist 
the  dagger  in  his  bosom.  I  have  lost  my  wife.  Her  name 
was  Donna  Francesca,  and  I  have  lost  her. 

Francesca.  If  you  do  not  believe  me,  my  love,  at  least 
give  me  leave  to  touch  with  my  lips  your  blood-stained 
wound.  By  the  tenderness  of  her  kiss  you  will  recognise 
your  Francesca.  [She  bends  forward  to  kiss  the  wound. 

Lorenzo.  [With  an  expression  of  extreme  pain  and  horror, 
thrusting  her  away]  What  are  you  about,  madam  ?  You  are 
drinking  my  blood.  Have  mercy  on  me,  I  beg  of  you.  You 
have  fastened  yourself  on  my  heart  and  you  are  drinking  my 
blood.     You  hurt  me.     Leave  me,  pray. 

Donna  Francesca  weeps.  Lorenzo,  shrinking  from 
her  with  an  expression  of  suffering  and  extreme  ter- 
ror, tries  to  cover  the  wound,  hut  his  hands  tremble. 

Lorenzo.  [Covering  the  wound  and  making  an  effort  to 
smile]  A  bitter  jest,  my  friends.  You  saw  how  this  vampire 
fastened  herself  upon  my  heart  ^ 

Cristoforo.  [Angrily]  You  are  crazy,  Lorenzo,  this  is 
your  wife! 

A  Gentleman.  He  has  insulted  you.  Donna  Francesca. 

Francesca.  [Ceases  weeping  and  speaks  angrily]  It  is  you 
who  insult  him,  sir!  Lorenzo,  Duke  of  Spadaro,  cannot 
insult  a  woman  even  though  he  be  insane. 

Lorenzo.  [To  Petruccio,  in  a  low  voice]  What  is  the 
trouble,  Signor  ?    What  has  disturbed  this  charming  masker  ? 

Petruccio.  I  do  not  know. 

Francesca.  Call  the  musicians,  Petruccio. 

Lorenzo.  [Joyfully]  Yes,  yes,  call  the  musicians. 

Francesca.  [Tenderly]  I  beg  you  to  be  attentive,  my  dear 
Lorenzo.     Signor  Romualdo  will  now  sing  for  us  the  charm- 


ACT  n.    8c.  V    THE  BLACK  MASKERS  69 

ing  song  that  you  dedicated  to  me  in  the  bright  days  of  our 
love. 

Lorenzo.  You  are  jesting  again,  madam.  I  never  loved 
you. 

Francesca.  [Greatly  distressed]  Do  not  listen  to  him,  my 
friends.  I  beg  you  to  be  seated,  Duke,  and,  if  you  will  per- 
mit me,  I  will  sit  beside  you.  Signor  Romualdo,  show  the 
Duke  the  song  which  he  wrote  with  his  own  hand  in  the 
bright  days  of  our  love.  Do  you  recognise  your  handwriting, 
my  dear  Lorenzo  ? 

Lorenzo.  [Courteously]  Show  it  to  me,  Signor.  Yes,  that 
is  my  writing,  and  a  capital  joke  it  is,  too.  [Glancing  at 
Francesca]  But  here  is  written:  *'To  my  love,  to  my 
bride,  the  charming  Donna  Francesca."  [Suspiciously]  How 
did  this  sheet  come  into  your  hands,  madam  ? 

Francesca.  [Hastily]  Signor  Romualdo,  I  beg  you  to 
begin.     We  are  listening. 

Strains  of  soft  and  beautiful  music  flooded  with  sunshine 
and  with  the  charm  of  youth  and  love. 

Romualdo.  [Singing]  "My  soul  is  an  enchanted  castle. 
I  have  lighted  my  castle  with  lights.  I  have  lighted  my 
castle  with  lights." 

Lorenzo.  [Searching  his  memory]  I  seem  to  have  heard 
those  words  before.     Continue,  Signor. 

Romualdo.  [Singing]  "And  the  sun  entered  my  charming 
castle.  The  black  shadows  fled  affrighted,  and  an  infinite 
joy,  the  re  veilings  of  a  bright  and  happy  soul,  gave  wings  to 
my  thoughts,  O  Donna  Francesca !    O  Donna  Francesca ! ' * 

Lorenzo.  The  singer  speaks  falsely,  my  friends.  I  never 
wrote  that. 

Romualdo.  [Singing]  "And  on  wings  of  fancy  my  flam- 
ing spirit  ascended  to  heaven.  And  on  wings  of  fancy  my 
flaming  spirit  ascended  to  heaven." 


60  THE  BLACK  MASKERS    actu.    sc.  v 

Lorenzo.  [Rising  and  halting  Romualdo  with  an  angry 
gesture]  Stop,  singer.  Do  not  listen  to  him,  my  friends.  He 
lies.  He  is  deceiving  you.  I  remember  the  words.  Luigi, 
you  villain,  obey  me.  If  you  err  even  in  a  single  note  I  will 
have  you  hanged  to-morrow  from  the  castle  walls.  Atten- 
tion, ladies  and  gentlemen.  [Through  the  windows  the  far-off 
mountain  tops  stand  out  from  the  darkness  as  if  touched  by  the 
red  glow  of  sunset.  From  somewhere  behind  the  Musicians 
coTnes  the  wild  music  that  was  played  at  the  ball,  but  no  one 
hears  it]  Right,  right,  Luigi.  [Singing]  "I,  the  insane  Lo- 
irenzo,  have  lighted  up  my  tower  and  hither  will  come  those 
whom  I  invited  not.  And  the  lights  in  the  tower  wOl  go 
out,  and  my  soul  will  be  shrouded  in  darkness  and  will  re- 
joice in  thee,  my  lord,  my  master,  ruler  of  the  world — Satan." 
Cries  of  indignation  and  horror.  Many,  terrified,  leave 
their  places  and  crowd  about  the  columns. 

A  Voice.  He  is  calling  upon  Satan. 

Second  Voice.  He  says  that  Satan  is  lord  of  the  world. 
Sacrilege  !     Sacrilege  !     Sacrilege  ! 

Cristoforo.  Awake,  madman,  you  are  the  son  of  a  cru- 
sader. 

A  Lady.  [To  a  gentleman]  Look,  the  sun  is  setting  a  second 
time! 

Voices.  The  sun !  the  sun !  Look,  the  sun  has  appeared 
again! 

Cristoforo.  [Stamping  his  foot]  Even  though  you  are 
insane,  even  though  you  are  my  master,  Duke  Lorenzo,  I 
throw  down  my  gauntlet  to  you. 

#•     The  others  seize  him.     The  light  outside  grows  stronger 
V        and  seems  to  be  mixed  with  flame  and  blood.     The 
mountains  are  no  longer  visible. 

Voices.  Look !    Look !     See  what  is  happening  to  the  sky. 

Francesca.  Duke  Lorenzo  is  mad,  Signor  Cristoforo,  and 


ACT  II.    sc.  V    THE  BLACK  MASKERS  61 

cannot  do  you  the  honour  of  crossing  swords  with  you,  but 
in  the  name  of  his  son,  whom  I  bear  in  my  bosom,  I  accept 
your  challenge.  [She  takes  up  the  glove. 

Voices.  The  Duchess  expects  a  son.  Donna  Francesca 
expects  a  son.     Poor  Lorenzo !     Poor  Lorenzo ! 

Lorenzo.  [Recovering  from  a  profound  reverie]  What  has 
happened  ?  I  thought  I  heard  the  sound  of  a  naked  sword. 
Who  dares  to  draw  his  sword  in  the  presence  of  Duke  Lorenzo  ? 
I  showed  you  honour,  my  friends,  and  invited  you  to  my  fes- 
tival.    You  outrage  my  hospitality. 

Voices.  Look!  Something  has  happened  to  the  sky. 
There  is  a  fire  somewhere.  See,  the  heavens  are  ablaze! 
What  has  happened  ?     There  is  a  fire  somewhere. 

Lorenzo.  [Looking  through  the  window  and  speaking  vnth 
elation]  That  is  the  beginning  of  my  holiday,  my  friends. 
To  our  joyful  banquet  will  come  one  more  guest.  I  com- 
mend him  to  your  attention.  His  eyes  are  fire,  his  bright 
locks  are  clouds  of  gilded  smoke,  his  voice  is  the  roar  of  the 
impetuous  flame  that  devours  stone,  and  his  godlike  visage 
is  flame  and  fire  and  boundless,  pellucid  light.  Such  a  masker, 
ladies  and  gentlemen,  you  have  never  seen ! 

The  light  outside  becomes  stronger.     Frightened  cries. 
Commotion.     Voices. 

Voices.  Satan !  Satan !  He  calls  on  Satan.  See,  the 
heavens  are  on  fire,  the  earth  is  ablaze!  Save  yourselves! 
He  is  summoning  Satan. 

Lorenzo.  [Raising  his  voice]  Who  dares  to  speak  here  the 
foul  name  of  Satan  .^  I  thought  I  heard  a  strange  song. 
Some  madman,  deserving  of  curses  and  death,  called  out  in 
tremulous  prayer  the  name  of  Satan. 

Cristoforo.  It  was  you,  Lorenzo.  You  are  the  vassal  of 
Satan. 

Lorenzo.  I?    Oh,    no,    sir.    You    imagined    it.    These 


62  THE  BLACK  MASKERS    act  ii.    sc.  v 

charming  masks  beget  so  many  ridiculous  misunderstand- 
ings. Some  jester,  assuming  my  voice  and  features,  has  long 
been  deceiving  you  with  a  base  falsehood. 

Cristoforo.  But  you  yourself  called  on  the  name  of  Satan. 

Lorenzo.  Oh,  no,  my  friends.  [Falling  on  his  knees  and 
speaking  with  solemnity]  He  whom  I  have  invited  to  my  fes- 
tival and  who  now  deigns  to  appear — uncover,  gentlemen — is 
the  Lord  God,  the  ruler  of  heaven  and  earth.  On  your  knees, 
knights  and  ladies.  [Nearly  all  kneel.  Several  weep.  Low 
exclamations:  "God  in  heaven!  God  in  heaven!"  Ecco, 
the  jester,  rushes  in,  all  ablaze,  and  runs  frantically  about  the 
hall.  The  Servants,  shouting,  pursue  him]  To  me,  Ecco;  I 
am  here. 

Mario.  Seize  the  villain.     He  has  fired  the  tower. 

PiETRo.  He  has  strewn  fire  about,  and  the  castle  is  burn- 
ing on  all  sides.  Save  yourselves,  ladies  and  gentlemen.  In 
a  moment  the  fire  will  seize  upon  the  staircase. 

Manucci.  We  must  kill  him.     Strike  him !     Strike  him ! 

Lorenzo.  [To  whose  knees  presses  the  blazing  and  almost 
blinded  jester]  Back!  Who  dares  touch  the  messenger  of 
God  ?    Back,  sirs !  [He  draws  his  sword. 

Ecco.  [Trembling]  Is  it  you,  Lorenzo.'^  I  am  blinded. 
The  fire  has  burned  out  my  eyes.  Do  not  drive  me  away, 
Lorenzo. 

Lorenzo.  Brother,  you  shall  greet  our  great  Master  along 
with  me. 

The  window-glass  crashes.  Above  appear  tongues  of 
flame  commingled  with  volumes  of  black  smoke. 
Panic  and  flight.     Shouts. 

Voices.  Save  yourselves !     Save  yourselves ! 

Francesca.  Fly,  Lorenzo,  fly ! 

Lorenzo.  Your  heart  has  stopped  beating,  Ecco.  Hold 
fast  to  life  for  at  least  a  moment.     He  comes,  Ecco. 


ACT  n.    sc.  V    THE  BLACK  MASKERS  63 

Ecco.  [Tremhling]  Is  he  coming?    Do  you  see  him? 

Lorenzo.  I  hear  him,  Ecco. 

Ecco.  I  am  dying,  Lorenzo.  But  do  you  tell  him  that  I 
am  your  little  brother. 

Lorenzo.  I  will  tell  him. 

Ecco.  [Growing  calmer]  You  know — ^they  gave  me  some 
bells — I  forgot  to  cut  them  off — I  am  dying,  Lorenzo. 

Francesca.  Fly,  Lorenzo ! 

Cristoforo.  Do  you  not  see,  madam,  that  he  is  mad? 
If  you  will  permit  me,  I  will  take  him  in  my  arms,  as  I  did 
when  he  was  a  child,  and  carry  him  away. 

He  approaches  Lorenzo,  biUy  encountering  the  point 
of  his  sword,  steps  back.  i* 

Lorenzo.  Stand  back,  sir. 

Cristoforo.  Well,  come  on,  then.       [He  draws  his  sword. 

Francesca.  Go,  Signor  Cristoforo.  Do  not  dare  to 
touch  that  which  belongs  to  God  alone. 

Cristoforo.  Well,  be  it  so.  But  I  shall  not  leave  without 
you,  my  lady. 

Francesca.  I  leave  you,  Lorenzo.    In  the  name  of  your 
unborn  son,  I  leave  you  and  renounce  the  happiness  of  dying 
with  you.     But  I  shall  tell  your  son,  Lorenzo,  how  the  Al- 
mighty called  you  to  himself,  and  he  will  bless  your  name. 
The  fire  breaks  through  everywhere. 

Cristoforo.  Quick,  madam,  quick ! 

Francesca.  Farewell,  my  Lorenzo;  farewell,  my  beloved; 
farewell. 

Lorenzo.  Farewell,  Signora.  I  regret  that  you  wear  a 
mask.  Your  voice  and  your  words  remind  me  of  Donna 
Francesca.  I  beg  of  you,  Signora,  bear  to  her  my  last  fare- 
well. 

I^TiANCESCA.  Farewell. 


64  THE  BLACK  MASKEKb    act  ii.    sc.  ^ 

Cristoforo.  Cpme !    Away  !    Away  ! 

Jlle  takes  Donna  Francesca  in  his  arms  and,  making 
his  way  through  the  clouds  of  smoke,  carries  her  out. 
There  remxiin-  only  Lorenzo  and  Ecco,  the  latter 
having  fallen  at  Lorenzo's  feet.     The  fire  spreads 
over  everything.     Outside  the  broken  windows  and  the 
ruined  doors,  in  the  midst  of  the  black  volumes  of 
smoke,  appear  the  Black  Maskers.     One  can  see 
their  ineffectual  efforts  to  enter  the  castle,  their  silent 
struggle  with  the  fire,  which  lightly  and  buoyantly 
tosses  them  back.     Again  and  again  they  rush  forward, 
only  to  fall  back  writhing  with  pain. 
Lorenzo.  Up,    Ecco,    the    Lord    is    coming.  [He   touches 
Ecco,  hut  the  jester  falls  lifeless  from  him.     The  flames  now 
completely  surround  them.     The  Black  Maskers  have  dis- 
appeared.    The  crackling  and  roaring  of  the  triumphant  fire 
is  heard.     Solemnly]  I  greet  thee,  O  Lord.     While  I  still  lay 
in  the  cradle  my  father  touched  me  with  his  sword  and  con- 
secrated me  a  Knight  of  the  Holy  Ghost.     Do  thou  touch 
me,  O  Ix)rd,  if  I  am  worthy  of  thy  accolade.  [Falling  on  his 
knees]  But  this  truth,  I  aver,  O  Lord,  is  known  to  all  people 
in  the  world:   Lorenzo,  Duke  of  Spadaro,  has  no  serpent  in 
his  heart! 

{The  fire  envelops  him.    Everything  falls  in  ruins. 

Curtain, 


^'■•^>^ 


THE    LIFE    OF    MAN 

A   DRAMA   IN    FIVE    ACTS 
With  a  Prologue 


THE    LIFE    OF    MAN 
PROLOGUE 

A  Being  in  Grey  called  He  speaks  of  the  life  of  Man.  The 
scene  resembles  a  large,  rectangular,  perfectly  empty  room, 
without  doors  or  windows.  Everything  in  it  is  grey  and 
misty  and  of  uniform  colour:  grey  walls,  grey  ceiling, 
grey  floor.  From  an  invisible  source  comes  a  feeble,  dif- 
fused light,  which,  also  grey,  is  monotonous,  unifcrrm,  and 
unreal,  casting  neither  shadows  nor  spots  of  light.  The 
Being  in  Grey  comes  gradually  into  view  against  the  back- 
ground of  the  wall,  with  which  he  has  been  merged.  He 
wears  a  broad,  shapeless,  grey  robe  which  vaguely  outlines 
the  contours  of  a  large  body.  Upon  his  head  there  is  a 
heavy  grey  scarf  which  throws  a  dark  shadow  over  the  upper 
part  of  his  face.  The  eyes  are  not  visible.  That  which  is 
visible — the  cheek-bones,  nose,  and  sharp  chin — is  massive 
and  solid,  as  if  Jiewnfrom  grey  stone.  The  lips  are  firmly 
compressed.  Slightly  raising  his  head,  he  begins  to  speak 
in  a  firm,  cold  voice,  calm  and  passionless,  like  a  hired 
lector  reading  with  severe  indifference  the  Book  of  Fate: 

"Look  and  listen,  ye  who  have  come  hither  for  mirth  and 
laughter.  Lo,  there  will  pass  before  you  all  the  life  of  Man, 
with  its  dark  beginning  and  its  dark  end.  Hitherto  non-ex- 
istent, mysteriously  hidden  in  infinite  time,  without  thought 
or  feeling,  utterly  unknown,  he  will  mysteriously  break 
through  the  barriers  of  non-existence  and  with  a  cry  will  a«- 

67 


68  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN 

nounce  the  beginning  of  his  brief  life.  In  the  night  of  non- 
existence will  blaze  up  a  candle,  lighted  by  an  unseen  hand. 
This  is  the  life  of  Man.  Behold  its  flame.  It  is  the  life  of 
Man. 

"After  birth  he  will  take  on  the  image  and  the  name  of 
man,  and  in  all  respects  he  will  be  like  other  people  who  al- 
ready live  on  the  earth,  and  their  cruel  fate  will  be  his  fate, 
and  his  cruel  fate  will  be  the  fate  of  all  people.  Irresistibly 
dragged  on  by  time,  he  will  tread  inevitably  all  the  steps  of 
human  life,  upward  to  its  climax  and  downward  to  its  end. 
Limited  in  vision,  he  will  not  see  the  step  to  which  his 
unsure  foot  is  already  raising  him.  Limited  in  knowledge,  he 
will  never  know  what  the  coming  day  or  hour  or  moment  is 
bringing  to  him.  And  in  his  blind  ignorance,  worn  by  appre- 
hension, harassed  by  hopes  and  fears,  he  will  complete  sub- 
mfsHvelyifehe  iron  reurfd'df  (ffestiny. 

"Behold  him,  a  happy  youth.  See  how  brightly  the  candle 
burns.  The  icy  wind  blowing  from  infinite  space  puffs  and 
whirls  about,  causing  the  flame  to  flutter.  The  candle,  how- 
ever, burns  clearly  and  brightly,  though  the  wax  is  melting, 
consumed  by  the  fire.     The  wax  is  melting. 

**Lo,  he  is  a^ppy  husband  and  father.  Yet  look  !  How 
dim  and  strange  the  candle  glimmeTs,  as  if  the  flame  were 
a  yellowing  leaf,  as  if  the  flame  were  shivering  and  shielding 
itself  from  the  cold.  For  the  wax  is  melting,  consumed  by 
the  fire.     The  wax  is  melting. 

"Lo,  now  he  is  an  old  man,  feeble  and  sick.  The  path  of 
life  has  been  trodden  to  its  end  and  noV  the  dark  abyss  has 
taken  its  place,  but  he  still  pres  ;es  on  with  tottering  foot. 
The  livid  flame,  bending  toward  the  earth,  flutters  feebly, 
trembles  and  sinks,  trembles  and  sinks,  and  quietly  goes 
out. 

"Thus  Man  will  die.     Coming  from  the  night  he  will  re- 


THE  LIFE  OF  MAN  60 

turn  to  the  night.     Bereft  of  thought,  bereft  of  feeling,  un-     f 
known  to  all,  he  will  perish  utterly,  vanishing  without  trace     I 
into  infinity.     And  I,  whom  men  call  He,  will  be  the  faithful      \ 
companion  of  Man  throughout  all  the  days  of  his  life  and  in 
all  his  pathways.     Unseen  by  Man  and  his  companions,  I 
shall  unfailingly  be  near  him  both  in  his  waking  and  in  his       j 
sleeping  hours;  when  he  prays  and  when  he  curses;  in  hours 
of  joy  when  his  free  and  bold  spirit  soars  high;   in  hours  of 
depression  and  sorrow  when  his  weary  soul  is  overshadowed 
by  deathlike  gloom  and  the  blood  in  the  heart  is  chilled;       ! 
in  hours  of  victory  and  defeat;  in  the  hours  of  heroic  struggle 
with  the  inevitable  I  shall  be  with  him — I  shall  be  with  him. 

"And  ye  who  have  come  hither  for  mirth,  ye  who  are 
doomed  to  die,  look  and  listen.  Lo,  the  swiftly  flowing  life 
of  Man  will  pass  before  you,  with  ^t|  soiywsrand  its  ioys,  . 

like  a  far-off,  thn^*efl«c±io».''    dO^UL^       pU-iX#Vo*^-i-^ 
The  Being  in  Grey  ceases,  and  in  the  silence  the  light  goes  oui 
and  darkness  envelops  him  and  the  grey,  empty  room. 

Curtain, 


ACT  I 

THE  BIRTH  OF  MAN  AND  THE  SUF- 
FERINGS OF  THE  MOTHER 

A  profound  darkness  within  which  nothing  moves.  Then  there 
can  he  dimly  perceived  the  outlines  of  a  large,  high  room 
and  the  grey  silhouettes  of  Old  Women  in  strange  gar- 
ments who  resemble  a  troop  of  grey,  hiding  mice.  In  low 
voices  and  with  laughter  to  and  fro  the  Old  Women  con- 
verse. 

Conversation  of  the  Old  Women 

"""  What  I  should  like  to  know  is  whether  our  friend  will  have 
a  son  or  a  daughter. 

What  difference  does  that  make  to  you  ? 
—  I  like  boys. 

And  I  like  girls.  They  always  stay  at  home  and  wait  until 
you  come  to  them. 

But  do  you  like  to  make  calls  ? 
Subdued  laughter. 

He  knows. 

He  knows. 
Silence. 

Our  friend  would  like  a  girl.  She  says  that  boys  are  too 
rough,  that  they  are  venturesome  and  seek  dangers.  When 
they  are  still  quite  small  they  like  to  climb  tall  trees  and 
swim  in  deep  water,  and  often  they  fall,  and  often  they 
drown.  And  when  they  become  men  they  start  wars  and 
kill  each  other. 

70 


ACT  I  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN  71 

She  thinks  that  girls  don't  drown,  but  I  have  seen  many 
drowned  girls  just  the  same,  and  they  were  like  all  drowned 
people — wet  and  greenish. 

She  thinks  stones  don't  kill  girls. 
3  Poor  thing !     Childbirth  is  so  hard  for  her.     Here  we  have 
been  sitting  for  sixteen  hours  and  she  is  still  crying.     At  first 
she  cried  loud  so  that  her  shrieks  hurt  your  ears,  then  lower, 
and  now  she  only  gasps  and  moans. 
The  doctor  says  she'll  die. 

No,  the  doctor  says  the  child  will  die  and  that  she  will  be 
left  alive. 

'  /   Why  do  they  have  children  ?     It  is  so  painful. 
"',    Why  do  they  die  ?     That  is  still  more  painful. 

Subdued  laughter. 
^  Yes,  they  bear  children  and  they  die. 
\L    And  again  bear  children. 

They  laugh.     The  low  cry  of  the  suffering  woman  is 
.^.----r:    heard. 
It  has  begun  again. 

Her  voice  has  come  back.     That's  good. 
That's  good. 

The  poor  husband!  He  is  so  distracted  that  he  is  funny 
to  look  at.  At  first  he  was  glad  that  he  was  to  have  a  child, 
and  said  that  he  wanted  a  boy.  He  thought  that  his  son 
would  be  an  ambassador  or  a  general.  But  now  he  doesn't 
want  anything,  neither  a  boy  nor  a  girl,  and  he  only  runs 
about  distractedly  and  weeps. 

When  her  throes  begin,  he  strains  too,  and  flushes. 
When  they  sent  him  to  the  drug  store  for  some  medicine 
he  rode  up  and  down  past  the  store  for  two  hours  and  could 
not  remember  what  he  wanted.     So  he  came  back. 

Subdued  laughter.     The  crying  again  becomes  louder 
and  then  dies  away.     Silence. 


72  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN  acti 

What  has  happened  to  her  ?    Perhaps  she  is  already  dead. 

No,  in  that  case  we  should  hear  weeping.  The  doctor 
would  run  out  and  begin  to  talk  nonsense,  and  they  would 
bring  out  her  husband  unconscious,  and  we  should  have  our 
hands  full.     No,  she  is  not  dead. 

Then  why  are  we  sitting  here.? 

Ask  Him.     How  should  we  know  ? 

He  won't  tell. 

He  won't  tell.     He  tells  nothing. 

He  drives  us  here  and  there.  He  rouses  us  from  our  beds 
and  makes  us  watch,  and  then  it  turns  out  that  there  was 
no  need  of  our  coming. 

We  came  of  our  own  accord.  Didn't  we  come  of  our  own 
accord?  You  must  be  fair  to  Him.  There,  she  is  crying 
again.    Aren't  you  satisfied.'' 

Are  you? 

I  am  saying  nothing.     I  am  saying  nothing  and  waiting. 

How  kind-hearted  you  are ! 

Laughter.     The  cries  become  louder. 

How  she  screams!  What  pain  she  suffers!  You  know 
these  pains  F    They  are  like  having  the  entrails  torn  out. 

We  have  all  borne  children. 

How  strimge  her  voice  is  !  I  don't  recognise  the  voice  of 
our  friend*    It  is  usually  soft  and  gentle. 

But  ihk  cry  is  more  like  the  howl  of  a  wild  animal.  One 
can  feel  the  night  in  this  cry. 

One  can  feel  in  it  hopelessness  and  terror.  It  is  like  an 
endless  dark  forest. 

One  can  feel  solitude  and  anguish  in  it.  Can  it  be  that 
no  one  is  with  her?  Why  are  there  no  other  voices  but 
this  wild  cry  ? 

There  are  voices,  but  you  cannot  hear  them.  Haven't 
you  noticed  how  solitary  a  human  shriek  always  is?    All 


ACT  I  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN  7S 

may  be  talking,  but  you  don't  hear  them;   yet  if  only  one 
shrieks,  it  is  as  if  everything  were  silent  and  listening. 

I  once  heard  a  man  shriek.  A  wagon  had  crushed  his 
foot.  Though  the  street  was  full  of  people,  it  was  as  if  he 
were  actually  the  only  one  there. 

But  this  is  more  frightful. 

Rather  say  louder. 

More  prolonged,  I  should  say. 

No,  it  is  more  frightful.     You  can  feel  death  in  it. 

Well,  you  could  feel  death  there,  too.     The  man  died. 

Stop  quarrelling  !     Isn't  it  all  the  same  to  you  ? 
Silence.     A  scream. 

How  strange  is  a  human  cry !  When  you  yourself  cry  out 
in  agony,  you  do  not  notice  how  strange  it  is — how  strange 
it  is! 

I  can't  picture  to  myself  the  mouth  that  is  uttering  those 
sounds.     Can  it  be  the  mouth  of  a  woman.?     I  cannot  pic- 
ture it. 
But  you  can  feel  that  it  is  all  distorted. 

The  sound  seems  to  be  born  in  some  abyss.     Now  it  is  like 
the  cry  of  a  drowning  person.     Listen,  she's  gasping. 
;   Some  heavy  thing  is  lying  on  her  chest.      / 

Some  one  is  stifling  her.  J 

The  cries  cease. 

At  last  she  has  ceased.  One  gets  tired  of  it.  The  cry  is 
so  monotonous  and  ugly. 

Oh,  you  want  beauty  here,  too,  do  you  ? 
Subdued  laughter. 

Sh!     Is  He  here? 

I  don't  know. 

I  think  He  is. 

He  doesn't  like  laughter. 

They  say  He  laughs  himself. 


74  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN  acti 

""  Who  ever  saw  Him  laugh  ?    You  are  simply  repeating  ru- 
mours.    They  tell  so  many  lies  about  Him. 

He  will  hear  us.     Let's  be  serious. 
Subdued  laughter. 
'    Just  the  same,  I'd  like  to  know  whether  it  will  be  a  boy  or 
a  girl. 

Yes,  it's  interesting  to  know  with  whom  you  have  to  deal. 

I'd  rather  it  would  be  still-born. 

How  kind- hearted ! 
-    No  more  than  you. 

Well,  I  want  him  to  become  a  general. 
Laughter. 

You  laugh  too  much.     I  don't  like  it. 

And  I  don't  like  your  glunmess. 

Stop  quarrelling!  Stop  quarrelling!  We  are  all  of  us  both 
mirthful  and  gloomy.     Let  each  one  be  as  she  likes. 

Silence. 
'    They  are  awfully  queer  when  they  are  born.    Funny  little 
things ! 

And  so  self-satisfied. 

And  they  demand  so  much.  I  don't  like  them.  They 
begin  right  off  to  cry  and  to  insist,  as  if  everything  ought  to 
be  ready  for  them.  Even  before  they  can  see  they  know  that 
there  is  a  breast  and  milk  and  insist  on  having  them.  And 
then  they  demand  that  they  be  laid  to  sleep.  And  then 
they  demand  to  be  rocked  and  to  have  their  little  red  backs 
gently  patted.  I  like  them  better  when  they  die.  Then  they 
are  less  insistent.  They  straighten  themselves  out  and  don't 
ask  to  be  rocked. 

Yes,  they  are  very  funny.  I  like  to  wash  them  when  they 
are  born. 

I  like  to  wash  them  when  they  are  dead. 

Stop  quarrelling!     Stop  quarrelling!     Every  one  shall  have 


ACT  I  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN  75 

her  own  way.    One  will  wash  the  child  when  it  is  bom,  an- 
other when  it  dies. 

But  why  do  they  think  they  have  a  right  to  make  demands 

as  soon  as  they  are  born?     I  don't  like  that.  A^^^y^^J  ^^ 
They  don't  think,  i  It  is  the  stomach  thalf  msists.") 

They  are  alway^msislmg       '  *  Q 

Because  no  one  gives  them  what  they  need. 

Subdued  laughter.     The  cries  in  the  next  room  are  re- 
newed. 
She  is  crying  out  again. 
Animals  have  an  easier  time. 

And  they  die  easier  and  live  easier.  I  have  a  cat.  If  you 
could  only  see  how  fat  and  contented  she  is ! 

And  I  have  a  dog;  and  every  day  I  say  to  her:  "You  are 
going  to  die."  But  she  only  grins  and  cheerfully  wags  her 
tail. 

Well,  they  are  animals. 
Well,  these  are  people. 

Laughter. 
Either  she  is  dying  or  the  crisis  has  come.    In  this  cry  you 
can  feel  the  limit  of  her  strength. 
You  can  feel  the  rolling  eyes. 
And  the  cold  sweat  on  her  forehead. 
They  listen. 

The  child  is  being  born. 

No,  the  mother  is  dying. 
\      Tfif  cri^?  qrfi  nidden^j-h^Jceji  ^' 

'—^    I  tell  you 

The  Being  in  Grey.  [Syeaks  in  a  clear  and  powerful  voice] 
Silence !    Man  is  born. 

Almost  simultaneously  with  his  words  the  cry  of  a  child 
is  heard,  and  the  candle  in  his  hand  flames  up.     The 


76  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN  acti 

I     tall  candle  burns  with  a  feeble,  uncertain  light ,  but  grad- 
\    vxdly  the  flame  becomes  stronger.     The  corner  in  which 
the  Being  in  Grey  stands  motionless  is  darker  than 
the  other  corners,  and  the  yellow  flame  of  the  candle 
illuminates  the  square  chin,  the  firmly  compressed  lips, 
and  the  large,  bony  cheeks.     The  upper  part  of  the  face 
is  hidden  by  the  heavy  folds  of  the  scarf.     He  is  some- 
what larger  than  an  ordinary  man. 
The  candle,  long  and  thick,  is  set  in  a  candlestick  of  an- 
tique workmanship.     Against  the  green   bronze  his 
hand  stands  out  grey  and  firm,  with  long,  slender  fingers. 
As  it  grows  slowly  brighter  there  emerge  from  the  dark- 
ness the  outlines  of  the  room  and  the  figures  of  five 
hunchbacked  Old  Women  in  outlandish  robes.     The 
room  is  high  and  rectangular,  with  smooth,  uniformly 
tinted  walls.    In  front  of  the  spectator,  and  also  at  his 
right,  are  two  tall  windoivs  with  eight  panes  of  glass 
each  and  without  curtains.     The  night  looks  in  through 
L   ^     the  windows.     Along  the  wall  stand  chairs  with  tall, 
^\rj^        straight  backs. 
V    The   Old   Women.  [Hastily]  Hear  them  running  about. 
'^They  are  coming  here. 

'  How  light  it  is  !     Let's  go. 
Look,  the  candle  is  tall  and  the  flame  is  bright. 
Let's  go;  let's  go.     Quick! 

we'll  come  back ! 
But  we'll  come  back  ! 

They  laugh  softly  and  in  the  dim  light  glide  out  with  odd, 
zigzag  movements,  interchanging  laughter.  On  their 
departure  the  light,  though  it  grows  stronger,  remains 
comparatively  dull,  lifeless,  and  cold.  The  corner  in 
which  the  Being  in  Grey  stands  motionless  with  the 
burning  candle,  is  darker  than  the  other  corners. 


ACTi  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN  77 

Enter  the  Doctor,  in  a  white  surgeon's  coaty  and  the 
Father  ot,  Man.  The  face  of  the  latter  wears  a  happy 
though  wearied  expression.  Under  his  eyes  are  blue 
circles.  His  cheeks  are  hollow  and  his  hair  is  di- 
shevelled. He  is  carelessly  dressed.  The  Doctor  has 
a  learned  air. 

Doctor.  Up  to  the  last  moment  I  was  uncertain  whether 
your  wife  would  remain  among  the  living  or  not.  I  used  all 
my  skill  and  knowledge,  but  our  science  means  little  if  nature 
does  not  come  to  our  aid.  I  am  much  agitated.  How  my 
pulse  beats  even  now!  Although  I  have  helped  so  many 
children  to  come  into  the  world,  to  this  day  I  cannot  avoid 
this  excitement.     But  you  are  not  listening  to  me,  sir ! 

Father  of  Man.  I  am  listening,  but  I  hear  nothing.  Her 
cries  are  still  ringing  in  my  ears,  and  I  find  it  hard  to  under- 
stand. Poor  woman  !  How  she  suffered !  Fool  that  I  was, 
insane,  to  wish  for  children !  I  now  renounce  this  criminal 
desire. 

Doctor.  But  you  will  call  me  when  the  next  one  is  born. 

Father.  That  will  never  be.  I  am  ashamed  to  say  it, 
but  at  this  moment  I  hate  the  child  for  whom  she  suffered  so. 
I  have  not  even  seen  it.     What  is  it  like  ? 

Doctor.  It  is  a  strong,  well-nourished  boy  and,  if  I  am 
not  mistaken,  resembles  you. 

Father.  Resembles  me  ?  How  delightful !  Now  I  begin 
to  loVe  it.  I  have  always  wished  to  have  a  son  like  myself. 
Did  you  notice  whether  his  nose  is  like  mine? 

Doctor.  Yes,  his  nose  and  his  eyes. 

Father.  His  eyes,  too?  Oh,  fine!  I  will  pay  you  more 
than  I  agreed. 

Doctor.  I  must  have  an  extra  fee  for  the  use  of  the  forceps^''''*^ 

Father.  [Turning  to  the  comer  where  He  stands  motionless] 
O  God,  I  thank  thee  for  fulfilling  my  desire  and  giving  me  a 


78  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN  acti 

son  like  to  myself.  I  thank  thee  that  my  wife  did  not  die 
and  that  the  child  lives.  And  I  beg  thee  so  to  order  his  life 
that  he  may  grow  up  strong  and  healthy  and  be  wise  and 
honest,  and  that  he  may  never  bring  grief  upon  us — upon  me 
and  his  mother.  If  thou  doest  this,  I  shall  ever  believe  in 
thee  and  go  to  church.     And  now  I  dearly  love  my  son. 

Enter  the  Kinspeople,  six  in  number.  One  is  an  un- 
usually tall,  elderly  lady  with  double  chin  and  smaH, 
haughty  eyes.  She  is  extremely  dignified  and  proud. 
An  elderly  gentleman  in  spectacles,  her  husband,  is 
very  tall  and  so  excessively  thin  that  his  garments  hang 
about  him.  He  has  a  pointed  beard  like  a  goafs,  and 
his  hair,  smooth  as  though  pomaded,  reaches  to  his 
shoulders.  He  seems  timid,  but  nevertheless  has  an 
air  of  wisdom.  In  his  hand  he  carries  a  low,  black 
silk  hat.  A  young  girl,  their  daughter,  has  a  silly, 
turned-up  nose,  blinking  eyes,  and  open  mouth.  There 
is  also  a  thin  lady  with  an  eoctremely  uncomfortable 
and  sour  expression.  She  holds  in  her  hands  a  hand- 
kerchief with  which  she  frequently  wipes  her  mouth. 
Two  Young  Men,  exactly  alike,  display  unu^uxilly 
tall  collars  which  hold  their  necks  stiffly  up.  They  have 
smoothly  plastered  hair  and  wear  an  expression  of 
perplexity  and  absent-mindedness.  In  each  character 
all  of  the  qualities  mentioned  are  carried  to  an  extreme. 
Elderly  Lady.  Allow  me,  dear  brother,  to  congratulate 
you  on  the  birth  of  your  son.  [She  kisses  him. 

Gentleman.  Allow  me,  my  dear  kinsman,  to  congratulate 
you  heartily  on  the  birth  of  a  son  so  long  expected. 

[He  kisses  him. 
The  Others.  Allow  us,  dear  kinsman,  to  congratulate  you 
n  the  birth  of  your  son. 

[They  kiss  him.     The  Doctor  withdraws. 


ACT  I  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN  79 

Father.  [Deeply  moved]  I  thank  you,  I  thank  you.  You 
are  all  so  very  good.  You  are  such  kind  and  aflfectionate 
people.  I  love  you  dearly.  Heretofore  I  had  my  doubts,; 
and  I  thought  that  you,  dear  sister,  were  somewhat  absorbed\j,^^^^^i{^ 
in  yourself  and  your  virtues,  and  that  you,  dear  brother-in- 
law,  were  somewhat  pedantic,  and  of  the  others  I  thought 
that  they  were  cool  toward  me  and  only  came  for  the  dinner. 
But  now  I  see  that  I  was  wrong.  I  am  extremely  happy. 
A  son  is  born  to  me.  A  son  is  born  to  me  like  myself,  and 
aside  from  that  I  see  here  so  many  good  people  who  love  me.i 

[They  kiss. 

Young  Gibl.  What  are  you  going  to  name  your  son,  dear 
uncle  ?  I  should  so  like  him  to  have  a  beautiful,  poetic  name. 
With  a  man  so  much  depends  on  the  name. 

Elderly  Lady.  I  should  like  the  name  to  be  simple  and 
substantial.  People  with  beautiful  names  are  always  rattle- 
brained and  rarely  succeed  in  life. 

Elderly  Gentleman.  I  think,  dear  brother-in-law,  that 
you  ought  to  name  your  son  for  some  one  of  your  older  kins- 
men. That  has  the  effect  of  continuing  and  strengthening 
the  family. 

Father.  Yes,  my  wife  and  I  have  already  thought  about 
it,  but  we  could  not  come  to  a  decision.  So  many  new  ideas 
and  interests  come  with  the  birth  of  a  child. 

Elderly  Lady.  It  rounds  out  one's  life. 

Elderly  Gentleman.  It  gives  life  a  beautiful  purpose. 
In  bringing  up  a  child,  by  saving  him  from  the  errors  of  which 
we  ourselves  were  the  victims,  by  storing  his  mind  from  our 
own  rich  experience,  we  produce  a  better  man  and  slowly  but 
surely  move  toward  the  final  goal  of  existence — perfection. 

Father.  You  are  perfectly  right,  my  dear  brother-in-law. 
When  I  was  small  I  was  very  fond  of  torturing  animals,  and 
this  developed  in  me  a  strain  of  harshness.     I  shall  not  allow 


80  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN  acti 

my  son  to  torture  animals.  Even  after  I  was  grown  up,  I 
frequently  made  mistakes  in  friendship  and  love.  I  selected 
im worthy  friends  and  perfidious  women.     I  will  explain  to 

my  son 

The  Doctor  enters  and  speaks  in  a  lovd  voice. 

Doctor.  Sir,  your  wife  is  very  ill.     She  wishes  to  see  you. 

Father.  O  heavens !  [He  goes  out  with  the  Doctor. 

The  KiNSPEOPLE  seat  themselves  in  a  semicircle  and  for 

som^  time  maintain  an  impressive  silence.    In  the 

corner  the  Being  in  Grey  stands  motionless  with  his 

stony  fa^e  turned  toward  them. 

Conversation  of  the  Kinspeople 

Can  it  be,  my  dear  wife,  that  our  kinswoman  will  die? 

No,  I  hardly  think  so. 

Having  very  little  patience,  she  makes  too  much  of  her 
suffering.  All  women  bear  children,  and  no  one  dies.  I  my- 
self have  borne  six  children. 

But  she  screamed  so,  mamma. 

Yes,  her  face  was  flushed  with  screaming.     I  noticed  that. 

That  was  not  from  screaming.  That  was  because  she  had 
to  strain  so.  You  don't  understand  these  things.  My  face 
has  been  flushed,  too,  but  I  never  screamed.  A  friend  of 
ours,  the  wife  of  the  engineer,  recently  bore  a  child,  and  she 
hardly  cried  at  all. 

Yes,  I  know.  My  brother  is  needlessly  worried.  One 
must  be  firmer  and  take  a  calmer  view  of  things.  I  am 
afraid  that  when  he  comes  to  bring  up  the  child  he  will  make 
him  visionary  and  dissolute. 

He  lacks  will-power.  Though  he  has  little  money,  yet  he 
loans  to  untrustworthy  people. 

Do  you  know  how  much  the  child's  linen  cost? 


ACT  I  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN  81 

Oh,  don't  mention  it!  My  brother's  folly  is  so  trying. 
He  and  I  have  had  arguments  on  this  subject  before. 

They  say  storks  bring  babies.     Storks ! 
The  Young  Gentlemen  snicker. 

Stop  your  silliness.  I  have  had  five  children,  and,  thank 
God,  I  am  no  stork. 

The  Young  Gentlemen  snicker  again,  and  the  Eld- 
erly Lady  looks  at  them  severely  for  a  long  time. 

You  should  understand  that  this  is  a  superstition.  Chil- 
dren are  born  in  a  perfectly  natural  manner,  on  strictly  scien- 
tific principles. 

They  live  in  another  flat  now. 

Who? 

The  engineer  and  his  wife,.  Their  old  quarters  turned  out 
to  be  very  damp  and  cold.  They  complained  several  times 
to  the  landlord,  but  he  paid  no  attention. 

Li  my  opinion  a  small,  warm  flat  is  better  than  a  large, 
damp  one.  Li  a  damp  flat  one  might  die  of  catarrh  or 
rheumatism. 

One  of  my  acquaintances  has  a  very  damp  flat.  , 

And  one  of  mine,  too — very  damp. 

There  are  so  many  damp  flats  nowadays. 

But  tell  me,  please — I  have  been  wanting  to  ask  you  for 
ever  so  long — how  can  grease  spots  be  taken  out  of  white 
cloth? 

Wool?  ^^ 

No,  silk.  Y^  "^^^^ 

Cries  of  the  child  in  the  other  room.  ^^         LAy^ 

Take  a  small  piece  of  clean  ice  and  rub  the  place  where 
the  spot  is  real  hard,  and  when  you  have  rubbed  it  real  hard 
take  a  hot  iron  and  smooth  it. 

You  don't  say  so !  How  simple !  But  I  have  heard  that 
borax  water  is  better. 


82  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN  acti 

No,  borax  water  is  good  only  for  dark  cloth.    For  white 
cloth  ice  is  the  best  thing. 
^    I  say,  may  one  smoke  here  ?    I  somehow  never  happened 
to  think  whether  it  would  be  proper  to  smoke  where  a  child 
had  just  been  bom. 

Nor  I.  How  strange !  At  funerals  I  know  it  is  quite  im- 
proper to  smoke,  but  here 

What  nonsense !    Of  course  you  can  smoke. 

However,  smoking  is  in  general  a  bad  habit.  You  are  still 
a  very  young  man.  I  should  advise  you  to  attend  to  your 
health.  In  the  course  of  one's  life  so  many  occasions  arise 
when  one  needs  one's  health. 

But  tobacco  is  stimulating. 

Believe  me,  it  is  a  very  unwholesome  stimulation.  When 
I  was  young  and  thoughtless  I  used  tobacco  to  excess. 

Oh,  mamma,  how  it  cries !  How  it  cries,  mamma !  Does 
it  want  milk  "i 

The  Young  Gentlemen  snicker.     The  Elderly  Lady 
looks  severely  at  them. 

Curtain, 


ACT  II 

LOVE  AND   POVERTY 

The  scene  is  flooded  with  a  bright,  warm  light,  A  large,  very 
high,  and  very  bare  room.  The  walls,  of  a  light  rose-colour, 
are  perfectly  smooth  and  covered  in  places  with  a  fantastic 
and  beautiful  lacework  of  damp  lines  and  spots.  In  the 
right  wall  are  two  tall  windows,  each  with  eight  panes  of 
glass  and  without  curtains.  The  night  looks  in  through 
them.  There  are  two  wretched  beds,  two  chairs,  and  a  table 
without  a  spread.  On  the  table  stands  a  beautiful  bouquet 
of  wild  flowers  and  a  half -broken  pitcher  containing  water. 

In  one  corner,  which  is  darker  than  the  other  corners,  stands  the 
Being  in  Grey.     The  candle  in  his  hand  is  diminishM  \ 
by  one  third,  but  the  white  flame  is  still  bright  and  high  j 
and  throws  brilliant  spots  of  light  on  his  stony  face  and 
chin. 

The  Neighbours  enter,  dressed  in  bright,  gay  garments.  Their 
hands  are  filled  with  flowers  and  grasses  and  fresh,  green 
branches  of  oak  and  birch.  They  move  about  the  room. 
Their  faces  are  open,  cheerful,  and  kindly. 

Conversation  of  the  Neighbours 

How  poor  they  are !    Just  see,  they  haven't  a  single  extra 
chair! 

Nor  curtains  at  the  windows 

Nor  pictures  on  the  walls 

How  poor  they  are!    See,  they  h*v«  nothinf  to  eat  but 

stale  bread 

S8 


/ 


84  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN  actii 

And  nothing  but  water  to  drink — cold  water  from  a  well. 

And  they  have  no  extra  clothing,  either.  She  always  wears 
her  rose-coloured  dress  with  the  open  neck,  which  makes  her 
look  like  a  young  girl. 

And  he  always  wears  his  blouse  and  his  fantastic  necktie, 
which  makes  him  look  like  an  artist  and  causes  all  the  dogs 
to  bark  angrily  at  him 

And  offends  all  proper  people. 

Dogs  hate  shabby  people.     Only  yesterday  I  saw  three 
dogs  attack  him,  and  as  he  drove  them  away  with  a  stick 
he  cried:  "Don't  you  dare  touch  my  trousers!     They  are 
my  only  trousers !"     Then  he  laughed,  and  the  dogs  showed 
their  teeth  and  rushed  at  him  and  howled  with  anger. 
I      And  to-day  I  saw  two  very  respectable-looking  people,  a 
I  gentleman  and  a  lady,  who,  frightened  by  him,  crossed  to 
Vthe  other  side  of  the  street.     "He  will  ask  us  for  money  in 
/a  minute,"  said  the  gentleman.     "He  will  kill  us!"  piped 
ji  the  lady.     So  they  crossed  the  road,  looking  about  and  hold- 
ing their  pockets.     But  he  shook  his  head  and  laughed. 

He  is  so  cheerful. 

They  are  always  laughing. 

And  singing. 

It's  he  who  sings;  she  dances. 

In  her  rose-coloured  dress  with  the  open  neck. 

It  is  a  delight  to  look  at  them.  They  are  so  young  and 
radiant. 

But  I  am  so  sorry  for  them.  They  are  hungry.  Just 
think  of  it,  hungry  ! 

Yes,  that  is  so.  They  used  to  have  much  furniture  and 
clothing,  but  they  have  sold  all  and  now  they  have  nothing 
left  to  sell. 

I  remember  she  had  beautiful  earrings,  and  she  sold  them 
to  buy  bread. 


ACT  n  THE   LIFE   OF  MAN  85 

And  he  had  a  handsome,  black  dress  coat — his  wedding- 
coat — and  he  sold  it. 

They  have  nothing  left  but  their  wedding-rings.  How 
poor  they  are ! 

That's  nothing,  that's  nothing !  I  was  young  myself  once 
and  I  know  what  it  means. 

What's  that  you  say,  grandfather  ? 

That's  nothing,  that's  nothing ! 
i  Just  see,  merely  thinking  of  them  makes  grandfather  want  / 
to  sing !  / 

And  dance ! 
Laughter, 

He  is  so  kind.     He  made  my  boy  a  bow  and  arrows. 

And  she  wept  with  me  when  my  daughter  was  sick. 

He  helped  me  mend  my  broken  fence.  He  is  a  strong 
young  fellow. 

It's  a  delight  to  have  such  good  neighbours.  Their  youth 
warms  our  cold  age;  their  light-heartedness  drives  away  our 
cares. 

But  their  room  is  like  a  prison :  it's  so  empty. 

No,  it  is  like  a  temple:  it's  so  bright. 

See,  they  have  flowers  on  the  table.  She  gathered  them 
while  she  was  walking  about  the  fields  in  her  rose-coloured 
dress  with  the  open  nfeck.  Here  are  lilies-of-the- valley.  The 
dew  is  not  yet  dry  on  them. 

And  here  is  flaming  scarlet  lychnis. 

And  here  are  violets. 

And  here  is  just  green  grass. 

Don't  touch  them,  girls !  Don't  touch  the  flowers !  Don*t 
drop  them  on  the  floor — her  kisses  are  on  them.  Don't 
breathe  on  them  with  your  breath — her  breath  is  on  them. 
Don't  touch  them,  girls  !    Don't  touch  the  flowers ! 

He  will  come  and  see  the  flowers. 


86  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN  acth 

^  He  will  take  the  kisses. 

He  will  drink  in  her  breath 


How  poor  they  are !    Yet  how  happy ! 

Let's  go.     Let's  go  away. 

But  has  none  of  us  brought  anything  for  our  dear  neigh- 
bours ?    That  would  be  too  bad ! 

I  have  brought  a  piece  of  fragrant,  warm  bread  and  a  bot- 
tle of  milk.  [She  puts  it  on  the  window-sill. 

And  I  have  brought  some  soft,  tender  grass.  When  it  is 
scattered  about  the  floor,  the  room  is  like  a  blossoming 
meadow  and  smells  like  spring. 

[She  strews  the  grass  on  the  floor. 

And  I  have  brought  flowers.  [Strewing  them. 

And  we  have  brought  branches  of  birch  and  oak  with  green 
leaves.  When  the  walls  are  hung  with  them  the  room  will 
look  like  a  cheery,  green  forest. 

They  decorate  the  room,  filling  the  dark  windows  and  cov- 
ering the  bare,  rose-coloured  walls  with  leaves. 

I  have  brought  a  fine  cigar.  It  is  a  very  cheap  one,  but 
it  is  strong  and  fragrant  and  will  bring  delightful  dreams. 

[He  lays  it  on  the  window-sill. 

I  have  brought  a  rose-coloured  ribbon.  When  you  tie  it 
in  your  hair  it  makes  you  gay  and  beautiful.  My  lover 
gave  it  to  me,  but  I  have  many  ribbons  and  she  has  none  at 
all.  [She  lays  it  on  the  window-sill. 

How  about  you,  grandfather?  Haven't  you  brought 
something  ? 

Nothing.    Nothing.     I  brought  only  my  cough,  and  they 
^  don't  need  that,  do  they,  neighbour  } 

No  more  than  my  crutches —  Say,  girls,  who  needs  my 
crutches  ^ 

Do  you  remember,  neighbour ? 

And  do  you  remember,  neighbour ? 


ACT  II  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN  87 

Let's  go  to  bed,  neighbour.     It's  already  late. 

They  sigh  and  go  out,  one  of  them  coughing  and  the  other* a 
crutches  clattering  on  the  floor. 

Let's  go !    Let's  go ! 

God  grant  them  happiness.  They  are  such  good  neigh- 
bours. 

God  grant  they  may  always  be  healthy  and  cheerful,  and 
love  each  other,  and  that  no  ugly  black  cat  may  ever  run 
between  them. 

And  that  the  young  man  may  find  work.  It  is  bad  when 
a  man  has  no  work. 

They  withdraw,  and  immediately  the  Wife  of  Man  en- 
ters, very  beautiful,  graceful,  tender,  and  delicate,  with 
flowers  in  her  splendid,  half-dishevelled  hair.  She  vt 
very  sad.  She  seats  herself  in  a  chair  and,  laying  her 
hands  on  her  knees,  speaks  sor^ov  fully,  her  face  toward 
the  audience: 

I  have  just  been  to  town  and  have  been  hunting.  I  don't 
know  what  I  was  hunting  for.  We  are  so  poor.  We  have 
nothing.  It  is  very  hard  for  us  to  live.  We  need  money, 
but  I  don't  know  how  to  get  it.  If  you  ask  it  of  people,  they 
won't  give  it;  and  I  haven't  the  strength  to  take  it  from  them. 
I  was  hunting  for  work,  but  no  one  gave  me  any  work. 
They  all  said  to  me:  "There  are  so  many  people  and  so  little 
work."  I  kept  my  eyes  on  the  road,  thinking  perhaps  some 
rich  people  might  have  dropped  a  purse,  but  either  they  did 
not  drop  one  or  some  one  more  fortunate  than  I  had  already 
picked  it  up.  And  I  am  so  sad.  You  see  my  husband  will 
soon  come  back  from  his  hunt  for  work,  tired  out  and  hungry, 
and  what  can  I  give  him  except  my  kisses  ?  He  cannot  satisfy 
his  hunger  with  kisses,  can  he  ?    I  feel  so  sad.     I'd  like  to  cry. 

I  can  go  without  eating  for  a  long  time.  I  don't  mind  it. 
But  he  cannot.    He  has  a  large  body  which  demands  nour- 


88  THE  LIFE   OF  MAN  actii 

ishment,  and  when  he  has  riot  eaten  for  some  time  he  be- 
comes pitifully  pale,  and  sick,  and  irritable.  He  scolds  me, 
but  afterward  he  kisses  me  and  asks  me  not  to  be  angry. 
But  I  never  get  angry,  because  I  love  him  so.  I  am  only 
sad. 

3^y  husband  is  a  very  talented  architect;  I  even  think 
he  is  a  genius.  His  parents  died  very  early  and  left  him 
an  orphan.  {^For  some  time  after  the  death  of  his  parents 
his  relatives  supported  him,  but  since  he  was  always  very 
independent  in  character  and  brusque,  and  often  said  un- / 
pleasant  things,  and  did  not  express  his  gratitude,  they  fcasi/ 
him  off.  But  he  continued  to  study,  supporting  himself 
by  giving  lessons,  and  often  going,  hungry.  And  so  he  fin- 
ished his  course  in  the  university.  (  He  was  often  hungry,  my 
poor  husband.)  Now  he  is  an  architect  and  makes  designs 
of  beautiful  buildings,  but  no  one  will  buy  them,  and  lots 
of  stupid  folks  even  laugh  at  them.  In  order  to  get  on  one 
must  have  either  a  patron  or  a  stroke  of  good  fortune.  But 
he  has  neither  patron  nor  good  fortune.  (He  goes  about, 
hunting  for  some  opportunity  or,  perhaps,^  looking  on  the 
ground  for  mone^  as  I  did.  He  is  still  very  young  and  is 
simple  as  a  child.! 

Of  course,  fortune  will  come  to  us  sometime,  but  when? 
Meanwhile,  it  is  very  hard  to  keep  alive.  When  we  were 
married  we  had  a  little  dowry,  but  we  quickly  used  it  up. 
We  always  went  to  the  theatre  and  ate  candy.  He  still  is 
hopeful,  but  I  sometimes  lose  all  hope  and  weep  by  myself. 
My  heart  sinks  when  I  think  that  he  may  be  here  at  any 
moment  and  again  find  nothing  except  my  poor  kisses. 

O  God,  be  a  kind  and  merciful  father  to  us!  Thou  hast  so 
much  of  everything — bread  and  work  and  money.  Thy  earth 
is  so  rich.  It  bears  fruits  and  grain  in  the  fields  and  covers 
the  meadows  with  flowers.     From  its  dark  depths  it  yields 


ACTH  THE   LIFE  OF  MAN  M 

up  gold  and  beautiful  precious  stones.  And  thy  sun  is 
warm,  and  there  is  so  much  quiet  joy  in  thyrpcnsire  stars. 
Give  us  a  little  bread  from  thy  bounty-^even  a  very  little 
— only  so  much  as  thou  givest  thy  birds,  piat  my  dear,  good 
husband  may  not  be  hungry;  a  little  warmth,  that  he  may 
not  be  cold,  and  a  little  work,  that  he  may  proudly  hold  up 
his  beautiful  head.  And  pray  do  not  be  angry  with  my  hus- 
band because  he  scolds  and  laughs,  or  even  sings  and  makes 
me  dance.     He  is  so  young  and  so  light-hearted. 

Now  that  I  have  prayed  I  feel  better  and  again  I  have  hope. 
^  Really,  why  should  God  not  give  when  we  pray  like  this  ? 
I  will  go  out  and  hunt  a  little.  Perhaps  some  one  has  dropped 
a  purse  or  a  sparkling  diamond,  j  \She  goes  out. 

The  Being  in  Grey.  She  does  not  know  that  her  wish  is 
already  fulfilled.  She  does  not  know  that  this  morning  two 
men,  in  a  costly  house,  bending  over  a  design  of  Man's, 
eagerly  scanned  it  and  were  delighted  with  it.  All  day  they 
have  been  hunting  in  vain  for  Man.  Wealth  has  been  seek- 
ing him,  as  he  is  seeking  wealth,  and  to-morrow  morning 
when  the  neighbours  go  away  to  work,  an  automobile  will 
come  to  the  house  and  two  gentlemen,  bowing  low,  will  enter 
the  bare  room  and  bring  wealth  and  fame.  But  they  do  not 
know  this — neither  he  nor  she.  Thus  fortune  and  happiness 
come  to  Man,  and  thus  they  leave  him. 

Man  and  his  Wife  enter.  Man  has  a  handsome,  proud 
head,  rvith  flashing  eyes  and  high  forehead.  His  dark 
brows  divide  above  his  nose  and  spread  like  two  bold 
toings.  His  wavy,  black  hair  i^  carelessly  thrown  back. 
His  low,  soft,  white  collar  displays  a  shapely  neck  and 
part  of  his  chest.  His  movements  are  light  and  swift 
like  those  of  a  young  animal,  but  the  attitudes  he  take^ 
are  peculiar  to  Man  alone;  they  are  masterful,  free, 
and  proud. 


THE  LIFE  OF  MAN  acth 

88 

Aas.  Again  nothing.     Pretty  soon  I  shall  go  to  bed  and 
le  there  all  day  long.     The  people  that  need  me  can  come 
and  find  me.     I  shall  not  go  to  find  them.    To-morrow  I  am 
going  to  lie  abed. 

Wife.  Are  you  tired  ? 

Man.  Yes,  I  am  tired  and  hungry.  Like  Homer's  hero,  I 
could  eat  a  whole  bull,  and  here  I  have  to  be  satisfied  with  a 
crust  of  stale  bread.  Do  you  know  that  a  man  cannot  always 
live  on  bread  alone  ?    I  want  to  gnaw,  tear,  bite ! 

Wife.  I  am  so  sorry  for  you,  dear. 

Man.  Yes,  I  am  sorry  for  myself,  but  that  doesn't  satisfy 
my  hunger.  To-day  I  stood  for  a  whole  hour  in  front  of  a 
lunch-room  and  gazed  on  the  chickens  and  the  tarts  and  the 
sausages,  just  as  people  view  works  of  art.  And  oh,  the 
signs !  They  can  paint  ham  so  exquisitely  that  one  could  eat 
it,  iron  and  all. 

Wife.  I  like  ham,  too. 

Man.  Is  there  anybody  who  doesn't  like  ham?  Do  you 
like  lobsters  .f^ 

Wife.  Yes,  I  do. 

Man.  Oh,  what  a  lobster  I  saw !  Though  he  was  only  a 
painted  lobster,  he  was  more  handsome  than  a  live  one. 
Red  as  a  cardinal,  majestic,  severe.  One  might  kneel  to 
him  for  a  blessing.  I  think  that  I  could  eat  two  such 
cardinals  and  a  carp  thrown  in. 

Wife.  [Sadly]  Didn't  you  notice  my  flowers? 

Man.  Flowers !    Can  you  eat  flowers  ? 

Wife.  You  don't  love  me. 
Man  kisses  her. 

Man.  Forgive  me,  but  really  I  am  so  hungry.  See  how 
my  hands  shake.  I  haven't  strength  enough  to  throw  a 
stone  at  a  doac 

VfiFEkisses  his  hand. 


ACTH  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN  91 

Wipe.  Poor  dear ! 

Man.  How  did  these  leaves  come  to  be  on  the  floor? 
How  sweet  they  smell !    Did  you  put  them  there,  too  ? 

Wife.  No;  probably  it  was  our  neighbours. 

Man.  Our  neighbours  are  dear  people.  Strange  that  with 
so  many  good  people  in  the  world  a  man  can  die  of  hunger. 
Why  is  it? 

Wife.  You  have  become  gloomy;  you  frown.  Do  you  see 
anything  ? 

Man.  Yes,  before  me,  across  my  humorous  fancies,  a 
hideous  image  of  poverty  glided  stealthily  and  rose  up  yonder 
in  the  corner.  Do  you  see  her?  The  pitiful,  outstretched 
hands — like  those  of  a  child  lost  in  the  woods — the  voice 
appealing  to  the  silence  of  the  human  desert:  "Help  me!" 
No  one  hears.  "Help  me,  I  am  dying!"  No  one  hears.! 
Look,  Wife,  look!  Look!  The  black ''shadows,  trembling, 
float  apart  like  wraiths  of  black  smoke  from  the  long,  dread- 
ful chimney  that  leads  down  to  hell.  Look !  I,  too,  am  in 
the  midst  of  them ! 

Wife.  You  terrify  me.  I  cannot  look  in  that  dark  corner. 
Did  you  see  all  this  on  the  street? 

Man.  Yes,  I  saw  it  all  on  the  street,  and  soon  it  will  be 
here. 

Wife.  No,  God  will  not  let  it  come  to  us. 

Man.  Why  does  he  let  it  come  to  others  ? 

Wife.  We  are  better  than  others.  We  are  good  people. 
We  do  not  anger  him  in  any  way. 

Man.  Do  you  think  so  ?    But  I  often  scold. 

Wife.  You  are  not  wicked. 

Man.  Yes,  I  am  wicked,  I  am  wicked.  When  I  walk  along 
the  street  and  look  at  the  things  that  are  not  ours,  I  grow 
boar's  tusks.  Oh,  how  much  money  there  is  that  is  not  mine ! 
Listen,  my  dear  little  Wife.    This  evening  I  was  walking  in 


92  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN  actu 

the  park,  in  that  lovely  park  where  the  roads  are  straight  as 
arrows    and    the    beautiful   beech-trees   are   like   crowned 

kings 

Wife.  And  I  was  walking  along  the  city  streets,  where 

:here  were  stores  and  stores,  sych  beautiful  stores 

Man.  Well-dressed  people  with  canes  passed  me,  and  I 
thought:  "I  have  none  of  that." 

Wife.  Handsomely  gowned  women  in  well-fitting  boots 
which  make  the  foot  charming,  in  rustling  silk  skirts,  and  in 
elegant  hats  from  beneath  which  their  eyes  sparkled  mys- 
teriously, passed  by  me,  and  I  thoUght:  "I  h^-ve  no  fine  hat, 
I  have  no  silk  skirt." 
cO  Man.  One  awkward  fellow  shouldered  me  aside,  but  I 
\S  showed  him  my  tusks  and  he  slunk  cowardly  behind  the 
^  others. 

,/    Wife.  A  finely  dressed  lady  jostled  me,  but  I  was  so  em- 
barrassed that  I  did  not  even  look  at  her. 

Man.  Riders  swept  by  me  on  proud  and  fiery  horses,  but 
I  have  no  horse. 

Wife.  And  such  diamonds  were  in  her  ears !  I  wanted 
to  kiss  them. 

Man.  Red  and  green  automobiles  glided  by  noiselessly 
like  phantoms  with  blazing  eyes,  and  people  were  sitting  in 
them  laughing  and  listlessly  glancing  from  side  to  side,  but  I 
have  no  automobile. 

Wife.  And  I  have  neither  diamonds  nor  emeralds — not 
even  a  pure  white  pearl. 

Man.  On  the  shore  of  the  lake  glittered  a  luxurious  res- 
taurant with  lights  like  the  kingdom  of  heaven,  and  people 
I      were  eating  there.     There  were  high  officials  in  dress  suits, 
I     and  angels  with  white  wings  who  distributed  beer  and  b;;ead 
\^  and  butter,  and  people  were  eating  and  drinking.  ,/Oh,  I 
wiant  to  eat,  little  Wife,  I  want  to  eat ! 


ACT  II  THE   LIFE  OF  MAN  93 

WiFE^/My  dear  boy,  if  you  keep  running  about  you  will 
increase  your  hunger.  Come,  sit  down,  and  I  will  sit  on 
your  knees.  Now,  take  a  paper  and  draw  a  beautiful,  beau- 
tiful building. 

Man.  But  my  genius  is  hungry,  too,  and  it  won't  sketch 
anything  but  edible  landscapes.  For  a  long  time  my  palaces 
have  looked  like  big  dumplings  stuffed  with  fat  and  my 
churches  like  sausages.  But  there  are  tears  in  your  eyes. 
What  is  the  matter,  little  Wife  ? 

Wife.  I  am  sad  because  I  cannot  help  you. 

Man.  You  make  me  ashamed.  Though  I  am  a  strong 
man,  intelligent,  talented,  and  healthy,  I  can  do  nothing, 
while  my  little  wife,  my  fairy,  weeps  because  she  is  not 
strong  enough  to  help  me.  When  woman  weeps,  man  is 
disgraced.     I  am  ashamed  of  myself. 

Wife.  You  are  not  to  blame  if  people  cannot  appreciate 
you. 

Man.  I  am  blushing  to  the  tips  of  my  ears.  I  feel  like  a 
child  whose  ears  have  been  pulled.  You,  too,  are  hungry, 
and  I,  selfish  creature  that  I  am,  had  not  noticed  it.  I'm 
a  hvvLi^y^ 

Wife.  But,  my  dear,  I  am  not  hungry. 

Man.  It  is  disgraceful,  cowardly.  That  rude  fellow  who 
jostled  me  was  right.  He  saw  that  I  was  nothing  but  a  fat 
pig,  a  boar  with  sharp  tusks  and  a  stupid  head. 

Wife.  If  you  are  going  to  scold  yourself  so  unfairly,  I  shall 
begin  to  cry  again. 

Man.  No,  no.  Don't  cry.  When  I  see  tears  in  your 
eyes  I  am  always  terrified.  I  am  afraid  of  those  bright 
crystal  drops.  It  is  as  if  they  were  shed  not  by  you  but  by 
some  one  else,  some  frightful  being.  Jr  won't  let  you  cry. 
True,  we  have  nothing,  we  are  miserably  poor;  but  I  will 
tell  you  what  we  are  going  to  have.     I  will  charm  you  with 


94  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN  actii 

a  beautiful  story.  I  will  enwreath  you,  my  queen,  with  rose- 
coloured  dreams.  v^ 

Wife.  You  need  not  fear.  You  are  strong  and-  talented 
and  you  will  succeed.  The  moment  of  depression  will  pass, 
and  a  divine  inspiration  will  again  throw  its  halo  over  your 
proud  head. 

Man.  [Assumes  an  attitude  of  bold  and  proud  defiance,  and, 
throwing  an  oak  spray  into  the  corner  where  the  Unknown 
standsy  he  cries]  Ho,  you,  whatever  your  name  may  be — Des- 
tiny, the  Devil,  Life — I  throw  down  the  gauntlet  to  you. 
I  challenge  you  to  battle.  The  faint-hearted  bend  their 
knees  before  your  mysterious  power.  Your  stony  face  fills 
them  with  horror.  In  your  silence  they  hear  the  coming  to 
birth  of  misfortune  and  its  ominous  approach.  But  I  am  bold 
and  strong,  and  I  challenge  you  to  battle.  Let  our  swords 
flash,  let  our  shields  ring,  let  the  blows  fall  on  our  heads 
— blows  that  will  shake  the  earth.     Come  forth  to  battle ! 

^VIFE.  [Approaching  and  standing  close  behind  his  left 
shoulder,  speaks  earnestly]  Bolder,  my  dear,  still  bolder ! 

Man.  To  your  inertness,  sinister  being,  I  oppose  my  bold, 
living  strength.  To  your  gloom  I  oppose  my  clear  and 
ringing  laughter.  Parry  the  blows !  Against  your  stony 
face,  in  which  there  is  no  light  of  reason,  I  hurl  the  projec- 
tile of  my  glowing  thought.  You  have  a  heart  of  stone  that 
knows  no  pity.  Stand  aside  !  or  I  will  pour  into  it  the  seeth- 
ing poison  of  rebellion.  The  black  cloud  of  your  fierce  wrath 
has  darkened  the  sun.  We  will  light  up  the  darkness  with 
our  swords.     Ho !    Parry  the  blows ! 

Wi^lAjBolder,  still  bolder!  Behind  you  stands  your 
armour-bearer,  my  proud  knight. 

MA^f/If  I  conquer,  I  shall  sing  songs  which  all  the  world 
will  echo;  and  if  I  fall  dumbly  under  your  blows,  then  I  shall 
think  only  of  how  I  may  rise  again  and  rush  to  battle.     There 


Acrn  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN  96      ^ 

are  weak  spots  in  my  armour,  I  know,  but,  though  covered  ij     (  , 
with  wounds  and  dripping  with  crimson  blood,  I  shall  yet  j   ♦^ 
gather  strength  to  cry:  "You  have  not  yet  conquered,  ma- '.    ^ 
licious  enemy  of  mankind !" 

Wife.  Bolder,  my  knight !  I  will  wash  your  wounds  with 
my  tears.  With  my  kisses  I  will  stanch  the  flow  of  your 
crimson  blood. 

Man.  And  dying  on  the  field  of  battle  as  brave  men  do, 
I  shall  mar  your  brute  pleasure  with  one  last  cry:  "I  have 
conquered!"  I  have  conquered,  malicious  foe,  for  with  my 
last  breath  I  shall  refuse  to  acknowledge  your  supremacy. 

Wife.  Bolder,  my  knight,  bolder!     I  will  die  with  you. 

Man.  Ho  !  Come  forth  to  battle !  Let  our  swords  flash, 
let  our  shields  ring,  let  the  blows  fall  on  our  heads,  blows  that 
will  shake  the  earth.     Ho !     Come  forth ! 

For  some  time  Man  and  his  Wife  remain  in  the  same 
attitudes,  and  then  they  turn  to  each  other  and  kiss. 

Man.  Thus  we  shall  share  life  together,  my  little  Wife, 
shall  we  not  ?  Let  life  blink  like  an  owl  blinded  by  the  sun- 
shine, we  will  force  her  to  smile. 

Wife.  And  to  danpe  to  our  songs — we  two  together ! 

Man.  We  tw^«^iou  are  a  good  wife  and  a  faithful  friend. 
You  are  a  brave  little  woman,  and  as  long  as  you  and  I  are 
together  nothing  can  terrify  us.  What  is  poverty?  To- 
day we  are  poor,  and  to-morrow  we  are  rich. 

Wife.  And  what  is  hunger?  To-day  we  are  hungry, 
to-morrow  we  are  filled. 

Man.  Oh,  you  think  so,  do  you?  Perhaps,  but  it  will 
take  a  great  deal  to  fill  me.  My  hunger  isn't  easily  satisfied. 
Do  you  think  this  will  be  plenty?  In  the  morning,  tea, 
coffee,  chocolate — take  your  choice — and  then,  after  that, 
breakfast — three  courses — then  lunch,  then  dinner,  then 

Wife.  Lots  of  fruit.    I  am  so  fond  of  fruit. 


y 


96  THE   LIFE   OF  MAN  actii 

Man.  All  right.  I  will  buy  it  in  baskets  in  the  market. 
It  is  cheaper  there  and  fresher;  though,  to  be  sure,  we  shall 
have  our  own  orchard. 

Wife.  But  we  have  no  land. 

Man.  I'll  buy  some.     For  a  long  time  I  have  wanted  a 
j  little  plat  of  my  own,  and,  by  the  way,  I'll  build  a  house  on  it 

>^       after  my  own  design.     I'll  show  the  rascals  what  sort  of 
y  J^    architect  I  am ! 

»r   jK^  Wife.  I  want  to  live  in  Italy,  right  by  the  sea,  in  a  white- 
jy    j'     marble  villa  set  in  a  grove  of  lemon-trees  and  cypresses; 
w       and  I'd  like  some  white-marble  steps  leading  straight  down  to 
\^         the  blue  water. 

Man.  I  see.  Good !  But  besides  that  I  mean  to  build 
a  castle  in  Norway  among  the  mountains:  far  below,  the 
fiord;  high  up  on  the  steep  cliff,  the  castle. — Haven't  we 
any  paper  ?  No  matter,  the  wall  will  do.  Here  is  the  fiord. 
Do  you  see  it  ? 

Wife.  Yes — how  lovely ! 

Man.  The  water  is  sparkling  and  deep.  Here  it  reflects 
the  tender,  green  grass  and  there  the  red  and  black  and 
brown  stone.     And  see,  here  in  the  opening,  right  where  this 

spot  is,  a  touch  of  deep-blue  sky  and  a  quiet,  white  cloud 

Wife.  Look !  A  white  boat  is  reflected  in  the  water.  It 
is  like  two  white  swans,  breast  to  breast. 

Man.  And  see,  here  the  mountain  rises  from  the  cheerful 
green  meadows  and  forests,  and,  as  it  mounts,  becomes  more 
and  more  gloomy,  more  and  more  severe.     There  are  sharp 

cliffs,  black  shadows,  precipices,  ragged  clouds 

Wife.  It  is  like  a  ruined  fortress. 

Man.  And  see,  on  this  fortress,  right  on  this  spot  here  in 
the  centre,  I  will  build  a  castle  fit  for  an  emperor. 

Wife.  How  cold  it  is  there,  and  how  the  wind  blows ! 
t       Man.  Oh,  but  I'll  have  thick  stone  walls,  and  there  will 


ACT  II  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN  97 

be  huge  windows  of  one  large  pane,  and  on  winter  nights, 
when  the  blizzard  rages  and  the  fiord  is  roaring  below,  we 
will  draw  the  curtains  and  kindle  a  fire  in  the  huge  fireplace. 
There  will  be  great  andirons  on  which  will  burn  whole  logs 
— whole  forests  of  pitchy  pine. 

Wife.  Oh !     How  warm  ! 

Man.  And  see,  how  still !  Everywhere  rugs,  and  lots  and 
lots  of  books  which  radiate  silent  yet  living  warmth  and 
comfort,  and  we  two  together.  Outside  roars  the  storm, 
but  here  we  are  together  in  front  of  the  fireplace  on  a  white 
bear's  skin.  You  say,  *' Shall  we  take  a  peek  at  what's  going 
on  outside ?"  and  I  say,  "Very  well,"  and  we  go  to  the  largest 
window  and  draw  the  curtain.     Heavens!    What's  that? 

Wife.  Whirling  snow ! 

Man.  It  sweeps  by  like  white  horses.  Look,  myriads  of 
little  frightened  spirits,  white  with  terror,  seeking  refuge 
from  the  night!     And  the  whistling  and  the  roaring 

Wife.  Oh,  it's  cold !    I  am  shivering. 

Man.  Quick!  Back  to  the  fire.  Her^-^ve  me  my  an- 
cestral beaker.  No,  not  that  one,  the  gold  one  that  the  vi- 
kings drank  from.  Fill  it  with  golden  wine — more — let  the 
fiery  liquid  rise  to  the  very  brim.  There's  a  chamois  roasting 
on  the  spit.  Bring  it  here;  I  will  eat  it.  Quick,  or  I  will  eat 
you  instead!     I'm  starved!    I'm  hungry  as  the  devil '/^ 

Wife.  There,  now;  they've  brought  it.  What  ^re  you 
going  to  do  next.'' 

Man.  What  next?  Why,  eat  it,  of  course.  What  else 
could  be  next?  But  what  are  you  doing  with  my  head, 
little  Wife? 

Wife.  I  am  the  Goddess  of  Fame.  I  have  twined  for  you 
a  wreath  of  the  oak  leaves  which  our  neighbours  strewed,  and 
I  am  crowning  you.     Fame  has  come — glorious  fame ! 

[She  puts  the  wreath  on  his  head. 


98  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN  actii 

Man.  Yes,  fame,  loud-voiced,  echoing  fame.  Look  at  the 
wall.     See,  here  I  go,  and  do  you  know  who  is  by  my  side? 

Wife.  Why,  that's  me. 

Man.  See,  people  are  bowing  to  us.  They  are  whisper- 
ing about  us.  They  are  pointing  at  us.  See  that  respect- 
able-looking old  gentleman  who  falls  a- weeping  and  says: 
** Blessed  is  our  native  land  to  have  such  children!"  See  that 
pale  young  man  who  is  looking  at  us.  Fame  has  smiled  upon 
him,  also.  By  this  time  I  have  built  the  People's  Palace  of 
which  our  whole  country  is  so  proud. 

Wife.  You  are  my  glorious  hero!  The  oak  wreath  be- 
comes you,  but  a  laurel  wreath  would  be  even  better.        y' 

Man.  Look!  look!  Here  are  representatives  of  the  city 
where  I  was  born  coming  to  me.  They  bow  low  and  say: 
"Our  city  is  proud  of  the  honour " 

Wife.  Oht    - 

Man.  What's  the  matter  ? 

Wife.  I  have  found  a  bottle  of  milk ! 

Man.  Impossible ! 

Wife.  And  bread — soft,  fragrant  bread — and  a.  cigar ! 

Man.  Impossible !  You  have  made  a  mistake.  \What  you 
think  is  milk  is  only  the  dampness  from  this  accursed  wall. 

Wife.  No,  indeed !  \ 

Man.  a  cigar !  Cigars  don't  grow  on  window-sills.  |  They 
sell  them  at  ridiculously  high  prices  in  the  stores.  This  is 
probably  just  a  black,  broken  twig. 

Wife.  But,  do  look!  Ah,  now  I  understand!  Our  dear 
neighbours  brought  it. 

Man.  Neighbours!  Upon  my  word,  they  are  angels.  And 
even  if  the  devil  himself  had  brought  these  things — bring 
them  here  quick,  my  little  wife.  [The  Wife  of  Man  sits  on  his 
knees  and  they  eat,  she  breaking  the  pieces  of  bread  and  putting 


ACTH  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN  99 

them  in  his  mouth  while  he  gives  her  milk  from  the  bottle]  It 
looks  like  cream. 

Wife.  No,  it's  milk.  Chew  your  bread  more  slowly  or 
you'll  choke  yourself.^ 

Man.  Give  me  the  crust.     It  is  so  nicely  browned. 

Wife.  There,  didn't  I  tell  you  you  would  choke  yourself  ? 

Man.  It's  all  right;  got  it  down. 

Wife.  The  milk's  running  down  my  neck  and  my  chin — 
oh,  it  tickles ! 

Man.  Here,  let  me  drink  it  up.  [He  drinks  it  off  her  neck 
and  chin]  We  mustn't  waste  a  drop. 

Wife.  What  a  mischief  you  are ! 

Man.  There,  everything's  eaten  up.  Th^t-^as  quick 
work.  Everything  that  is  good  comes  soon  to  an  end.  This 
bottle  must  have  a  double  bottom.  To  look  at  it  you  would 
think  it  was  deeper.  What  cheats  these  bottle  makers  are ! 
{He  lights  the  cigar,  and  assumes  an  attitude  of  supreme  con- 
tentment. She  ties  the  rose-coloured  ribbon  in  her  hair,  using 
the  black  window  for  a  mirror]  This  seems  to  be  an  expensive 
cigar.  It  is  very  fragrant  and  strong.  I  am  always  going 
to  smoke  that  kind. 

Wife.  You're  not  looking  at  me. 

Man.  Yes,  I  am.  I  see  everything.  I  see  the  ribbon, 
and  I  see  that  you  want  me  to  kiss  your  throat. 

Wife.  I  won't  let  you,  you  silly  man.  You  can  smoke 
your  cigar  if  you  like,  but  as  for  my  throat 

Man.  What,  isn't  it  mine  ?  The  deuce !  That  is  a  viola- 
tion of  property  rights.  [She  runs  away.  He  catches  her  and 
kisses  her]  There,  the  right  is  restored,  and  now,  my  little 
Wife,  dance  for  me.  Just  imagine  that  this  is  a  magnificent, 
luxurious,  astounding,  miraculously  beautiful  palace. 

Wife.  I've  imagined  it. 

Man.  Now  imagine  that  you  are  the  queen  of  the  ball. 


100  THE   LIFE  OF  MAN  actii 

Wife.  It's  done. 

Man.  And  that  marquises  and  counts  and  lord  mayors 
are  asking  you  to  dance  with  them,  but  you  decline  them  all 
and  select  the — what  do  you  call  him — the  fellow  in  tights  ? 
Oh,  yes,  the  prince.     Why !     What's  the  matter  ? 
Wife.  I  don't  like  princes. 

Man.  Oh,  that's  it!     Well,  what  sort  do  you  like? 
Wife.  I  like  talented  artists. 

Man.  Good!    Here's  your  artist.     Oh,   heavens!    Look 
at  you  there  flirting  with  empty  space !    Oh,  woman ! 
Wife.  But  I  was  just  imagining. 

Man.  Oh,  all  right.     Now  imagine  a  wonderful  orchestra. 
See,  here's  a  big  Turkish  drum — boom,  boom,  boom ! 

[He  pounds  his  fist  on  the  table  in  imitation  of  a  drum. 
Wife.  My  dear,  it  is  only  in  a  circus  that  they  call  the 

crowd  together  with  a  drum;  in  a  palace 

Man.  Oh,  the  deuce!  Stop  the  picture.  Now  imagine 
again.  Listen !  The  singing  violins  are  pouring  forth  their 
melody,  and  here  sounds  the  tender  voice  of  a  flute.  Listen  ! 
The  fat  bass  viol  is  booming  like  a  beetle —  [Man,  wearing 
the  oak  wreath,  sits  and  strikes  up  the  tune  of  the  dance,  beating 
time  with  the  palms  of  his  hands.  The  tune  is  the  same  as  that 
which  is  played  in  the  following  act,  at  the  ball  of  Man.  The 
Wife  dances  gracefully]  Ah,  my  little  gazelle! 
Wife.  I  am  the  queen  of  the  ball. 

The  song  and  dance  become  more  and  more  lively. 
Presently  Man  gets  up,  begins  to  dance  where  he 
stands,  and  finally  seizes  his  Wife  and  dances  with 
her,  the  oak  wreath  slipping  to  one  side. 
The  Being  in  Grey  watches  them  with  indifference, 
holding  in  his  stony  hand  the  brightly  blazing  candle. 

Curtain^ 


ACT  III 

A   BALL   AT   THE    HOUSE    OF   MAN 

A  hall  is  going  on  in  the  great  hall  of  the  spaciotis  house  of  Man. 
The  hall  is  a  large,  high,  rectangular  room  with  perfectly 
smooth  white  walls  and  ceiling  and  a  light-coloured  floor. 
There  is  a  certain  lack  of  harmxyny  in  the  paHs,  the  doors, 
for  example,  being  disproportionately  small  as  compared 
with  the  windows.  In  consequence  of  this  the  hall  pro- 
duces a  strange  and  soinewhut  irritating  impression,  an 
impression  of  something  inharmonious,  soTnething  incom- 
prehensible, something  non-essential  and  intrusive.  The 
room  is  pervaded  by  a  chilly  whiteness,  its  monotony  being 
broken  only  by  a  row  of  windows  along  the  rear  wall.  These 
are  very  high,  reaching  almost  to  the  ceiling,  and  a/re  close 
together.  Through  them  the  night  shows  dark  and  gloomy. 
Not  a  single  gleam  of  light,  not  one  bright  spot,  is  visible  in 
the  empty  caverns  enclosed  by  the  frames.  The  wealth  of 
IVL\.N  is  shown  by  the  abundance  of  gilding.  There  are 
gilded  chairs  and  very  broad  gilded  frames  on  the  pictures. 
These  are  the  only  furnishings  and  the  only  decoration  of 
the  immense  room.  The  hall  is  illuminated  by  three  chan- 
deliers in  circular  form,  with  electric  lights  set  at  wide  in- 
tervals around  them.  Near  the  ceiling  the  room  is  very 
bright,  but  lower  down  the  light  is  noticeably  less,  so  that  the 
walls  appear  greyish. 

The  ball  at  the  house  of  Man  is  at  its  height.  An  orchestra  of 
three  is  playing.  The  musicians  bear  a  striking  resem- 
101 


10. 


kE'XWl&'OF  MAN 


ACT  in 


blance  tj  their  instruments.  Thus,  the  one  with  a  fiddle 
res^-mhles  a  fiddle,  having  a  very  thin  neck  and  a  small 
head  with  a  topknot  drooping  to  one  side.  His  body  is 
somewhat  bent.  Over  hi^  shoulder,  underneath  the  fiddle, 
a  handkerchief  is  carefully  spread.  The  flutist  resembles 
a  flute.  He  i.s  very  long  and  very  thin,  with  a  long-drawn- 
out  fa^e  and  long-stretched-out  thin  legs.  The  one  with 
the  bass  viol  resembles  a  bass  viol.  He  is  short,  has  droop- 
ing shoulders,  is  very  broad  below  the  waist,  and  wears 
broad  pantaloons.  They  play  with  an  infinite  painstaking 
which  is  very  conspicuous.  They  keep  time  by  shaking 
their  heads  and  swaying  their  bodies.  The  tune  during 
the  entire  ball  is  always  the  same.  It  is  a  rather  brief 
polka  of  two  musical  phrases,  with  dancing  notes,  cheerful 
hut  very  empty.  The  instruments  are  slightly  out  of  tune 
with  each  other  and  consequently  there  is  between  them,  as 
well  as  between  the  successive  notes,  a  strange  incoherence 
and,  as  it  were,  empty  spaces. 


The  young  girls  and  young  nien,  all  of  them  very  handsome, 
well-form^,  and  elegant,  are  dancing  a  dreamy  dance. 


ACT  in  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN  103 

In  contrast  to  the  loud  and  jerky  sounds  of  the  musicy  their 
dancing  is  very  smooth,  silent,  and  light.  During  the  first 
musical  phrase  they  circle  about;  during  the  second  one  they 
separate  and  reunite  gracefully  and  a  trifle  artificially. 

Along  the  wall  on  the  gilded  chairs  sit  the  Guests  in  rigid, 
formal  attitudes.  They  move  stiffly,  scarcely  turning  their 
heads.  They  also  speak  stiffly — there  is  no  whispering  nor 
smiling — without  looking  at  each  other,  and  utter,  jerkily 
and  abruptly,  only  such  words  as  are  given  in  the  text. 
Their  hands  seem  to  he  broken  at  the  wrist  and  hang  in  an 
attitude  of  stupid  pride.  In  spite  of  the  extreme  and 
sharply  marked  differences  in  their  faces,  they  all  wear  a 
similar  expression  of  self-satisfaction,  arrogance,  and  sod- 
den reverence  for  the  loealth  of  Man. 

The  girls  who  are  dancing  wear  white  gowns :  the  men  are  dressed 
in  black.  The  Guests  wear  black,  while,  and  bright 
yellow. 

In  the  corner  nearest  the  spectators,  which  is  darker  than  the 
other  corners,  the  Being  in  Grey,  called  He,  stands  mo- 
tionless. The  candle  in  his  hand  is  already  reduced  by 
two  thirds  and  burns  with  a  vivid  yellow  flame,  throwing 
yellow  patches  of  light  on  his  stony  face  and  chin. 

Conversation  op  the  Guests 

I  must  observe  that  it  is  a  very  great  honour  to  be  a  guest 
at  the  ball  of  Man. 

You  might  add  that  this  honour  is  bestowed  upon  very 
few.  The  w^ole  city  tried  to  get  invitations,  but  very  few 
leceived  them.  My  husband,  my  children,  and  I  are  all 
very  proud  of  the  honour  which  highly  respected  Man  has 
bestowed  upon  us. 

I  even  feel  a  sort  of  pity  for  those  who  couldn't  come.  All 
night  they  will  lie  awake  from  envy  and  to-morrow  the\  will 


) 


104  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN  act-hi 

slander  us  and  tell  how  people  are  bored  at  the  balls  of 
Man. 

They  have  never  seen  this  brilliancy. 
t  You  might  add,  this  amazing  wealth  and  luxury. 

j  Precisely  what  I  mean:  this  charming,  care-free  joy.     If 

this  is  not  joy,  then  I  should  like  to  know  where  joy  is. 
1  Enough.     You  cannot  convince  people  who  are  tortured 

by  envy.     They  will  tell  us  that  we  did  not  sit  on  gilded 
chairs — that  there  were  no  gilded  chairs  at  all ! 

And  they  will  say  that  they  were  just  ordinary,  cheap  chairs 
bought  at  a  second-hand  store. 

And  that  there  was  no  electric  light  but  simply  tallow 
candles. 

Why  not  say  candle-ends  ? 

Or  wretched  night-lamps.     Oh,  slander !  slander ! 

And  they  will  barefacedly  deny  that  there  are  gilded  cor- 
nices in  the  house  of  Man. 

And  that  the  pictures  have  broad,  gilded  frames.  It  seems 
to  me  I  can  hear  the  gold  jingling. 

You  see  it  glitter;  that  is  sufficient,  I  should  say. 

I  have  rarely  had  opportunity  to  enjoy  such  music  as  one 

hears  at  the  balls  of  Man, — this  divine  harmony  which  wafts 

the  soul  to  higher  spheres. 

^   /^^    Music  ought  to  be  good  when  it  costs  so   much.     You 

I      should  not  forget  that  this  is  the  best  orchestra  in  the  city 

\     and  that  it  plays  on  the  most  elite  occasions. 

This  music  runs  in  your  head  for  a  long  time.  It  cer- 
tainly takes  the  ear  captive.  My  children  on  returning  from 
the  balls  of  Man  hum  the  tune  for  a  long  time. 

I  sometimes  think  I  hear  it  on  the  street.  I  look  around, 
but  there  are  no  musicians  and  no  music. 

And  I  hear  it  in  my  dreams. 

I  must  say  that  I  am  particularly  pleased  with  the  pains- 


ACTin  THE   LIFE   OF   MAN  105 

taking  manner  in  which  the  musicians  play.  They  under- 
stand how  much  money  they  have  received  for  their  music, 
and  they  wish  to  give  some  return  for  it.  That  is  perfectly 
proper. 

They  work  as  hard  as  if  they  had  themselves  entered  into 
their  instruments. 

Rather  say  their  instruments  have  entered  into  them. 

How  costly !    ** 

How  gorgeous ! 

How  brilliant ! 

How  costly ! 

For  some  time^  in  different  parts  of  the  room,  the  two 
expressions,  "How  costly  !*'  "How  gorgeous !"  are 
repealed  abruptly  with  a  sound  resembling  a  hark. 

Aside  from  this  hall  Man  has  fifteen  magnificent  rooms, 
and  I  have  seen  them  all.  The  dining-room  has  a  fireplace 
so  huge  that  whole  logs  can  be  burned  in  it.  There  are 
magnificent  reception-rooms  and  a  boudoir.  The  sleeping 
chambers  are  roomy,  and  above  the  heads  of  the  beds — 
just  think  of  it — are  baldachins  ! 

Yes,  isn't  it  amazing !     Baldachins ! 

Do  you  hear  ?     Baldachins  ! 

Allow  me  to  continue.  For  his  little  son  there  is  a  beau- 
tiful, bright  room  finished  in  wood  of  a  golden  yellow  colour. 
The  sun  seems  always  to  shine  in  it. 

Oh,  such  a  charming  boy  !     He  has  curls  like  the  sun's  rays. 

Quite  true.  When  you  look  at  him  you  involuntarily 
think :  What,  has  the  sun  risen  ? 

When  you  look  at  his  eyes  you  think:  Why,  autumn  is 
over  and  the  blue  sky  has  come  agahi ! 

Man  loves  his  son  passionately.  For  horseback  riding 
he  has  bought  him  a  pony,  a  cunning,  snow-white  pony. 
My  children 


106  THE   LIFE  OF  MAN  actiii 

Allow  me  to  continue,  I  beg  of  you.  Have  I  spoken  yet 
of  the  bath  ? 

No,  no ! 

Ah,  the  bath ! 

Yes,  the  bath ! 

Yes,  hot  water  all  the  time.  Then,  farther  on,  is  the  li- 
brary of  Man  himself,  and  there  you  see  nothing  but  books, 
books,  books !  They  say  he  is  very  wise,  and  you  could 
infer  that  from  his  books. 

I  once  saw  the  garden.     Have  you  seen  it  .J* 

No,  I  have  not  had  that  pleasure. 

Well,  I  saw  the  garden,  and  I  must  say  that  it  charmed  me. 
Just  picture  to  yourself  lawns  of  emerald,  incredibly  smooth, 
and  down  the  middle  two  paths  sprinkled  with  fine,  red  sand. 
Then  flowers,  even  palms ! 

Even  palms  ? 

Yes,  even  palms.  And  all  the  trees  are  clipped,  too,  some 
of  them  like  pyramids,  others  like  green  columns.  And 
there  is  a  fountain,  and  shining,  coloured  globes,  and  in  the 
midst  of  the  green  grass  stand  little  plaster-of-paris  gnomes 
and  mountain  goats. 

How  costly ! 

How  gorgeous ! 

For  some  time  they  repeat  abruptly:   *'How  costly!" 
"  How  gorgeous  ! " 

Man  did  me  the  honour  of  showing  me  his  stables  and  his 
carriage  houses,  and  I  expressed  my  unqualified  approval  of 
his  horses  and  carriages.  In  particular,  the  automobile 
made  a  peculiarly  deep  impression  on  me. 

And — think  of  it ! — he  has  as  many  as  seven  servants  !  A 
man  and  woman  cook,  two  chambermaids,  gardeners,  the 

You  left  out  the  coachman. 

Oh,  yes,  of  course,  the  coachman. 


ACT  III  THE   LIFE  OF  MAN  107 

And  they  themselves  do  nothing.     They  are  so  important. 
Everybody  agrees  that  it  is  a  great  honour  to  be  a  guest  of 
Man. 
But  don't  you  find  this  music  somewhat  monotonous  ? 
Dear  me,  no !     I  don't  find  it  so,  and  I  am  surprised  that 
you  do.     Don't  you  see  what  kind  of  musicians  these  are  ? 

'As  for  me,  I  should  like  to  hear  this  music  all  my  life  long. 
There  is  something  in  it  which  thrills  me. 
And  me. 
And  m^. 
Under  its  spell  how  delightful  it  is  to  give  oneself  up  to 

sweet  dreams  of  bliss 

And  to  be  wafted  away  in  them  to  the  interstellar  spheres. 
How  fine ! 
How  costly ! 

How  gorgeous !  [They  repeat  these  exclamations. 

I  see  a  commotion  at  the  doors  yonder.     Man  will  now  pass 
through  the  hall  with  his  Wife. 

The  musicians  are  becoming  completely  exhausted. 

There  they  are ! 

They're  coming !    Look,  they're  coming ! 

In  the  low,  double  door  at  the  right  appear  Man,  his 
Wife,  his  Friends,  and  his  Enemies.  Tliey  cross 
the  hall  diagonally ,  going  toward  the  door  at  the  left. 
The  dancers,  continuing  to  dance,  divide  their  ranks 
and  make  ivay  for  them.  The  musicians  play  with 
desperate  loudness  and  discordancy. 
Man  has  grmon  much  older.  In  his  long  hair  and  his 
heard  are  traces  of  grey,  hut  his  face  i?  manly  and  hand- 
some,  and  he  walks  with  a  calm  dignity  and  a  certain 
reserve.  He  looks  straight  ahead,  apparently  not  ob- 
serving those  about  him.    His  Wife,  leaning  on  his 


108  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN  actiii 

arm,  is  still  beautiful,  though  she  also  has  grown  older. 
She,  too,  apparently  does  not  see  what  is  going  on  about 
her,  and  with  a  somewhat  strange,  almost  fixed,  gaze 
looks  straight  before  her.     Both  are  richly  dressed. 

Immediately  behind  Man  walk  his  Friends.  They  all 
resemble  one  another,  having  noble  faces,  open,  high 
foreheads,  and  honest  eyes.  As  they  walk  proudly  for- 
ward with  chests  thrown  out  and  with  confident,  firm 
tread,  they  look  from  side  to  side  condescendingly  and 
with  a  slightly  scornful  air.  All  have  white  roses  in 
their  buttonholes. 

A  little  way  behind  them  come  the  Enemies  of  Man. 
They  also  resemble  one  another  closely.  All  have  de- 
praved faces,  low  foreheads,  and  long,  monkey-like 
arms.  They  walk  restlessly,  jostling  each  other,  crouch- 
ing, hiding  behind  each  other,  and  casting  sidewise 
under  their  brows  keen,  sneaking,  envious  glances.  In 
their  buttonholes  are  yelloiv  roses. 

In  this  manner  they  pass  slowly,  without  speaking,  across 
the  hall.  The  sound  of  the  footsteps,  the  music,  and 
the  exclamations  of  the  guests  produce  a  confused  and 
markedly  inharmonious  noise. 

The  Guests 

There  they  are  !     There  they  are  !     What  an  honour ! 

How  handsome  he  is  ! 

What  a  manly  face  ! 

Look !     Look ! 

He  doesn't  even  glance  at  us. 

He  doesn't  see  us. 

We  are  his  guests. 

What  an  honour !     W^hat  an  honour ! 


ACTin  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN  109 

And  she,  look,  look ! 

How  beautiful  she  is ! 

How  proud ! 

Do  just  look  at  her  diamonds ! 

Diamonds !    Diamonds ! 

Pearls !     Pearls ! 

Rubies ! 

How  gorgeous !     What  an  honour ! 

Honour !    Honour !     Honour ! 

[They  repeat  the  exclamations. 
And  there  come  the  Friends  of  Man. 
Look,  look !    There  are  the  Friends  of  Man. 
What  noble  faces ! 
What  a  proud  walk ! 
They  bask  in  his  fame. 
How  they  love  him ! 
How  faithful  they  are  to  him ! 
What  an  honour  to  be  a  Friend  of  Man ! 
They  look  upon  everything  as  if  it  were  their  own. 
They  feel  at  home  here. 
What  an  honour ! 
Honour !     Honour !     Honour ! 

[They  repeat  the  exclamations. 
And  there  are  the  Enemies  of  Man ! 
Look,  look !  The  Enemies  of  Man ! 
They  walk  like  whipped  dogs. 
Man  has  humbled  them. 
He  has  muzzled  them. 
See  how  they  wag  their  tails. 
How  they  slink  along ! 
They  jostle  each  other. 
Ha!  Ha!    Ha!  Ha!  [Th^  laugh. 


110  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN  actui 

What  villainous  faces ! 

What  greedy  glances ! 

Cowards ! 

Envious ! 

They  are  afraid  to  look  at  us. 

They  feel  that  we  are  at  home  here. 

We  must  scare  them  still  more. 

Man  will  be  grateful  to  us. 

Scare  them,  scare  them ! 

Boo !    Boo ! 

They  shout  at  the  Enemies  of  Man,  intermingling  the 
cry  "Boo !  Boo !"  with  their  laughter.  The  Enemies 
crowd  together  and  cast  timid  but  sharp  glances  from 
side  to  side. 

They  are  going  out !     They  are  going  out ! 

What  an  honour ! 

They  are  going  out ! 

Boo!    Boo!    Ha!    Ha!    Ha! 

They're  gone !     They're  gone !    They're  gone ! 

The  procession  disappears  through  the  door  at  the  left. 
A  period  of  silence  follows.  The  music  is  not  so  loud, 
and  the  dancers  gradually  fill  the  room. 

Where  did  they  go  ? 

I  think  they  went  to  the  dining-room.     They  are  serving 
dinner  there. 

Probably  they  will  soon  invite  us,  too.     Don't  you  see 
some  one  looking  for  us  ? 

Indeed,  it's  high  time.     If  one  dines  too  late,  one  sleeps 
badly. 

For  my  part,  I  dine  very  early. 

A  late  dinner  sits  heavy  on  the  stomach. 

The  music  is  still  playing. 


\ 

ACT  III  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN  111 

And  they  are  still  dancing.  I  am  surprised  that  they  can 
hold  out  so  long. 

How  gorgeous ! 

How  sumptuous ! 
^  Do  you  know  for  how  many  persons  the  table  is  laid? 

I  had  no  chance  to  count.  The  butler  came  in  and  I  took 
occasion  to  withdraw. 

It  cannot  be  that  they  have  forgotten  us.       ^ 

Man,  you  see,  is  so  proud,  and  we  are  so  petty.  v 

Your  remark  is  quite  uncalled  for.  My  husband  says  that 
we  show  him  honour  by  attending.  We  are  quite  wealthy 
ourselves. 

If  you  take  into  account  the  reputation  of  his  Wife 


y 


Don't  you  see  some  one  looking  for  us  ?    Perhaps  they  are 
looking  for  us  in  the  other  rooms. 

How  rich 

In  my  opinion  one  may  quite  easily  become  rich  by  han- 
dling other  people's  money  carelessly. 

Silence !     Only  his  Enemies  say  that 

Well,  there  are  perfectly  honourable  people  among  them. 
I  am  bound  to  say  that  my  husband .  ^ 

Dear  me !     How  late  it  is ! 

Apparently  there  is  some  misunderstanding.     I  cannot  be- 
lieve that  they  have  simply  forgotten  us. 

Evidently  you  understand  life  and  human  nature  very 
little,  if  you  think  that. 

I  am  surprised.     We  ourselves  are  quite  wealthy ^ 

I  think  I  heard  some  one  calling  us.  v     q7^ 

You  only  imagined  it.     No  one  called  us,  and,  to  speak  V^ 

frankly,  I  don't  understand  why  we  have  come  to  a  house       J^ 

with  such  a  reputation.     One  should  be  careful  in  the  selec-    ^pl' 

tion  of  one's  associates.  ^-^  *  J"^ 

A  Servant  in  Livery  appears  at  the  door. 


112  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN  acthi 

Servant.  Man  and  his  Wife  invite  their  honoured  guests 
to  come  to  table. 

The  Guests  rise  hastily. 

What  a  gorgeous  livery ! 

He  has  invited  us  ! 

I  said  there  was  some  misunderstanding. 

Man  is  so  kind.     Probably  they  are  themselves  not  yet 
seated. 

I  asked  whether  there  was  not  some  one  looking  for  us. 

What  a  livery ! 

They  say  the  dinner  is  magnificent. 

Nothing  can  be  bad  in  the  house  of  Man. 

What  music !     What  an  honour  to  be  at  the  ball  of  Man ! 

Let  those  envy  us  who 

How  gorgeous ! 

How  sumptuous ! 

What  an  honour ! 

What  an  honour !  ' 

Repeating  these  words  they  withdraw  one  after  another^ 
and  the  hall  becomes  empty.  The  dancers,  couple  after 
couple,  stop  dancing,  and  without  speaking  walk  out 
after  the  other  guests.  For  some  little  time  aftenoard 
one  couple  circle  about,  but  they,  too,  soon  follow  the 
others.  The  musicians,  however,  continue  to  play  with 
the  same  desperate  painstaking. 
A  lackey  extinguishes  the  chandeliers,  leaving  only  one 
light  in  the  farthest  chandelier,  and  goes  out.  In  the 
dimness  that  ensues,  the  figures  of  the  musicians  can  be 
seen  as  vague,  wavering  forms,  their  bodies  rocking 
with  their  instruments.  The  Being  in  Grey  stands 
out  sharply.  The  flame  of  the  candle  flickers  and  il- 
luminates his  stony  face  and  chin  with  a  brighty  yel- 
Urwish  light. 


ACTin  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN  118 

Without  raising  his  heady  he  turns  andy  illuminated  by 
the  flame  of  the  candle,  walks  with  calm  and  silent  foot- 
steps across  the  hall  to  the  door  through  which  Man 
passed,  and  disappears  through  it. 

Curtain. 


ACT  IV 

MISFORTUNE 

A  large,  rectangular  room  of  a  gloomy  aspect.     The  walls,  ceil- 
ing, and  floor  are  smooth  and  dark.     In  the  rear  wall  are 
two  tall,  eight-paned,  curtainless  windows,  between  which  is 
a  low  door.     Two  similar  windows  are  in  the  right  wall. 
.     Night  is  looking  in  at  the  windmvs,  and  when  the  door  is 
\    open  the  same  deep  blackness  peers  quickly  into  the  room. 
\   In  general,  however  much  light  there  may  be  in  the  rooms  of 
\  Man,  the  large,  dark,  windows  seem  to  devour  it. 

The  left  wall  i^  pierced  by  a  single  low  door  leading  into  the  inner 
apartments.  Against  this  wall  stands  a  broad  divan  cov- 
ered with  dark  cloth.  At  the  window  on  the  right  is  the 
work-table  of  Man,  very  plain  and  cheap.  On  it  is  a  dimly 
burning  lamp  with  a  dark  shade,  under  which  a  design 
spread  out  on  the  table  vmkes  a  yellow  square.  On  the  table 
also  are  a  child's  toys — a  little  soldier  cap,  a  wooden  horse 
without  a  tail,  and  a  red,  long-nosed  clown  with  bells. 
Against  the  wall  between  the  windmvs  is  a  shabby  old  book- 
case, entirely  empty.  On  the  shelves  can  be  seen  streaks  of 
dust,  showing  that  the  books  have  been  recently  removed. 
There  is  but  one  chair. 

In  a  corner  darker  than  the  other  corners  stands  the  Being  in 
Grey,  called  He.  The  candle  in  his  hand,  is  no  higher 
than  it  is  broad.  It  is  only  a  stub  and  is  beginning  to 
flatten  out  as  it  melts.  It  burns  with  a  reddish,  flickering 
light  and  casts  red  spots  upon  the  Being's  stony  face  and 
chin. 

114 


ACT  IV  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN  115 

Man's  only  servant,  an  Old  Woman,  is  seated  in  the 
chair.  She  speaks  in  a  monotonous  voice,  addressing 
an  imaginary  companion : 

Man  is  poor  again.  He  had  many  valuable  things — horses, 
and  carriages,  and  even  an  automobile — but  everything  is 
gone  now,  and  of  all  his  servants  I  alone  am  left.  In  this  room 
and  in  two  others  there  are  still  some  fine  things,  like  the 
divan  there  and  the  bookcase,  but  in  the  remaining  twelve 
rooms  there  is  nothing.  They  stand  empty  and  dark.  Day  and 
night  the  rats  run  about  in  them  and  fight  and  shriek.  People 
are  afraid  of  the  rats,  but  I  am  not.    It's  all  the  same  to  me. 

For  a  long  time  an  iron  plate  has  been  hanging  at  the  car- 
riage entrance  with  a  notice  that  the  house  is  for  sale,  but 
nobody  buys.  The  plate  is  rusty  and  the  letters  on  it  are 
worn  away  by  the  rains,  but  no  one  comes  and  no  one  buys. 
No  one  has  use  for  the  old  house.  But  perhaps  some  one  will 
buy  some  day.  Then  we  shall  go  and  hunt  for  another  place, 
and  the  new  plact;  will  seem  very  strange.  My  mistress  will 
begin  to  weep,  and  perhaps  even  the  old  gentleman  will  weep. 
But  not  I.     It's  all  the  same  to  me. 

You  wonder  where  the  wealth  has  gone?  I  don't  know. 
Perhaps  you  are  surprised  at  that,  but,  you  see,  all  my  life 
I  have  worked  in  private  families  and  I  frequently  have  seen 
their  money  disappear  quietly  through  some  crevice  or  other. 
So  it  was  with  this  family.  At  first  there  was  much;  then 
there  was  less;  then  nothing  at  all.  Customers  used  to  come 
and  give  orders,  and  then  they  stopped  coming.  Once 
I  asked  the  lady  why  this  was  so,  and  she  answered:  "They 
cease  to  like  what  they  used  to  like.  They  cease  to  love  what 
th^=»y  used  to  love."  I  asked:  "How  can  it  be  that  people 
cease  to  like  a  thing  when  once  they  have  come  to  like  it?" 
She  did  not  answer  and  began  to  cry.  But  I  didn't.  It's  all 
the  same  to  me.     It's  all  the  sam^  to  me. 


116  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN  activ 

As  long  as  they  pay  me,  I  will  live  with  them.  If  they  stop 
paying,  I  will  go  somewhere  else  and  live  with  others.  I  have 
cooked  for  them;  when  I  leave,  I  shall  cook  for  others;  and 
after  a  while,  I'll  stop  entirely;  for  I  shall  be  old  and  my  eye- 
sight poor.  Then  they  will  drive  me  away  and  say:  *'Go 
where  you  like.  We  will  hire  some  one  else.'*  But  what  of 
that?    I'll  go.     It's  all  the  same  to  me. 

People  are  surprised  at  me.  They  say  it  is  frightful  to 
live  here;  that  it  is  frightful  to  sit  evenings  with  only  the 
wind  whistling  in  the  chimney  and  the  rats  shrieking  and 
gnawing. 

I  don't  know;  perhaps  it  is  frightful,  only  I  don't  think 
about  it.  Why  should  I  ?  They  sit  quietly  and  look  at  each 
other  and  listen  to  the  wind,  and  I  sit  by  myself  alone  in  the 
kitchen  and  also  listen  to  the  wind.  Isn't  it  the  same  wind 
that  whistles  in  our  ears  ?  Young  people  used  to  come  and 
visit  their  son,  and  then  they  would  all  laugh  and  sing  and 
go  into  the  empty  rooms  and  chase  away  the  rats.  But 
no  one  comes  to  me  and  I  sit  alone,  all  alone.  There  is 
no  one  to  talk  with,  so  I  talk  to  myself.  It's  all  the  same 
to  me. 

And  so  they  are  in  straits.  Three  days  ago  another  mis- 
fortune came.  The  young  gentleman  went  out  for  a  walk. 
He  put  his  hat  on  one  side  of  his  head  and  smoothed  back 
his  hair,  as  young  men  do.  But  a  wicked  man  threw  a  stone 
at  him  from  behind  a  corner  and  cracked  his  skull  like  a  nut. 
They  brought  him  home  and  laid  him  down,  and  he  is  lying 
there  now,  dying — or  perhaps  he  will  live.  Who  knows? 
The  master  and  the  mistress  wept,  and  then  they  took  all  the 
books  and  loaded  them  on  a  dray  and  sold  them;  and  now 
they  have  hired  a  nurse  with  the  money  and  bought  medicine. 
They  even  bought  some  grapes.  So  the  books  were  of  some 
use  after  all.     However,  he  can't  eat  the  grapes.     He  can't 


ACT  IV  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN  117 

even  look  at  them.    So  they  lie  there  by  him  on  a  plate — 
just  lie  there. 

Doctor  enters  by  the  outside  door.    He  is  gloomy  and 
much  worried. 

Doctor.  Am  I  in  the  right  house?  Do  you  know,  old 
lady  .'*  I  am  the  doctor.  I  make  many  calls  and  often  I  go 
to  the  wrong  place.  (.They  call  me  here,  they  call  me  there; 
but  all  the  houses  look  alike  and  the  people  are  tiresome  in 
all  of  them.  '  Is  this  the  right  place  ? 

Old  Woman.  I  don't  know. 

Doctor.  Just  let  me  look  in  my  note-book.  Is  there  a 
child  here  with  sore  throat — choking  ? 

Old  Woman.  No. 

Doctor.  Young  man  choking  on  a  bone  ? 

Old  Woman.  No. 

Doctor.  Man  here  who  suddenly  went  crazy  from  pov- 
erty and  killed  his  wife  and  two  children  with  an  axe  ?  There 
ought  to  be  four  in  all. 

Old  Woman.  No. 

Doctor.  Young  girl  whose  heart  has  stopped  beating? 
Don't  lie  to  me,  old  woman.     I  think  she  is  here. 

Old  Woman.  No. 

Doctor.  No?  I  believe  you.  You  seem  to  speak  sin- 
cerely. Have  you  a  young  man  whose  skull  was  broken 
with  a  stone  and  who  is  dying  ? 

Old  Woman.  Yes.  Go  through  that  door  at  the  left  into 
the  next  room;  but  don't  go  farther,  or  the  rats  will  eat  you. 

Doctor.  Very  well.  They're  always  ringing  my  door-bell, 
day  and  night.  See,  it's  night  now.  The  street  lights  are 
all  put  out,  but  I  am  still  on  the  go.  I  often  make  mistakes, 
old  woman. 

He  goes  out  through  the  door  which  leads  to  the  inner  part 
of  the  house. 


118  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN  activ 

Old  Woman.  One  doctor  attended  him  but  didn't  cure 
him,  and  now  there  is  another,  and  probably  he  won't  cure 
him,  either.  But  what's  the  odds?  Their  son  will  die  and 
we  shall  be  left  alone  in  the  house.  I  shall  sit  in  the  kitchen 
and  talk  to  myself,  arid  they  will  sit  in  this  room  in  silence, 
thinking,  and  there  will  be  one  more  room  for  the  rats  to 
run  and  fight  in.  Let  them  run  and  fight.  It's  all  the  same 
to  me.     It's  all  the  same  to  me. 

You  ask  me  why  the  wicked  man  hit  the  young  master? 
I  don't  know.  How  should  I  know  why  people  kill  one  an- 
other? One  threw  a  stoile  from  behind  a  corner  and  ran 
away,  and  the  other  fell  down,  and  now  he  is  dying.  That's 
all  I  know.  They  say  that  our  young  master  was  kind  and 
brave  and  always  took  the  part  of  the  wretched.  I  don't 
know.  It's  all  the  same  to  me.  Good  or  bad,  young  or  old, 
alive  or  dead,  it's  all  the  same  to  me.  It's  all  the  same  to  me. 
As  long  as  they  pay  me,  I'll  stay.  If  they  stop  paying, 
I'll  go  somewhere  else  and  cook  for  others;  and  after  a  while 
I'll  stop  entirely;  for  I  shall  be  old,  and  my  eyesight  poor, 
and  I  shan't  be  able  to  tell  salt  from  sugar.  Then  they  will 
drive  me  away,  and  say:  "Go  where  you  like.  We  will  hire 
some  one  else."  But  what  of  that  ?  I'll  go.  It's  all  the 
same  to  me.  Here  or  there  or  nowhere — it's  all  the  same 
to  me,  all  the  same  to  me. 

Enter  Doctor,  Man,  and  his  Wife.  Man  and  his 
Wife  have  perceptibly  ac^ed,  and  are  entirely  grey. 
Man's  long  hair,  rising  high  above  his  head,  and  his 
large  beard  make  his  head  resemble  that  of  a  lion. 
Though  he  walks  slightly  bent,  he  holds  his  head  erect 
and  looks  out  sternly  and  resolutely  from  beneath  his 
grey  brows.  When  he  looks  at  anything  near,  he  puts 
on  large  spectacles  with  silver  rims. 
Doctor.  Your  son  has  fallen  into  a  sound  sleep.     Don't 


ACT  IV  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN  119 

wake  him  up.  Perhaps  the  sleep  will  do  him  good.  You  go 
to  sleep,  too.  If  a  man  has  time  to  sleep,  he  ought  to  sleep, 
and  not  to  walk  about  and  talk. 

Wife.  Thank  you,  doctor.  You  have  so  reassured  us. 
Will  you  not  come  again  to-morrow? 

Doctor.  I  will  come  to-morrow  and  the  day  after  to- 
morrow. You  go  to  sleep,  too,  old  woman.  It's  already 
night  and  time  for  every  one  to  sleep.  Do  I  go  through  this 
door?     I  frequently  make  mistakes. 

He  goes  out.     The  Old  Woman  also  goes  ovt.    Man  and 
his  Wife  remain. 

Man.  See,  Wife,  here  is  a  design  I  began  before  our  son 
was  hurt.  When  I  had  drawn  this  line  I  stopped  and  said  to 
myself:  "After  I  have  rested  a  little  I  will  go  to  work  again.'* 
How  simple  a  line  it  is;  how  quiet  and  yet  how  frightful! 
Perhaps  it  is  the  last  that  I  shall  draw  while  our  son  is  alive. 
How  calm,  how  simple  it  is,  and  yet  how  full  of  foreboding ! 

Wife.  Don't  worry,  my  dear.  Dismiss  these  apprehen- 
sions. I  believe  that  the  doctor  told  the  truth  and  that  our 
son  will  recover. 

Man.  But  are  you  not  worried  ?  Look  at  yourself  in  the 
mirror.     You  are  as  white  as  your  hair,  my  dear  companion. 

Wife.  Of  course  I  am  a  little  anxious;  still  I  am  sure  there 
is  no  danger. 

Man.  My  poor  armour-bearer !  Steadfast  guardian  of  my 
blunted  sword !  Now^as  always,  you  beguile  and  cheer  me 
by  your  sincerity  and  devotion.  Your  old  knight  is  now 
broken  and  his  withered  hand  cannot  long  hold  his  weapon. 
But  what  is  this?     Our  son's  toys !     Who  put  them  here? 

Wife.  My  dear,  you  forget.  You  put  them  here  yourself 
some  time  ago.  You  said  then  that  you  could  work  better 
with  these  simple  child's  toys  lying  before  you. 

Man.  Oh,  yes;   I  had  forgotten.    But  now  they  are  lik? 


r 


120  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN  activ 

instruments  of  torture  and  execution  to  a  man  condemned  to 
death.  When  a  child  dies,  his  toys  become  a  curse  to  the 
living.     Oh,  Wife,  Wife !     The  very  sight  of  them  is  terrible ! 

Wife.  We  bought  them  when  we  were  poor.  It  saddens 
me  to  look  at  them.     Poor,  dear  toys ! 

Man.  I  cannot  bear  it.  I  must  take  them  in  my  hands. 
See,  here  is  the  horse  with  the  broken  tail.  "Gid-ap,  gid-ap, 
horsie!  Where  are  you  galloping.?"  "Far,  papa,  far  away 
into  the  fields  and  the  green  woods."  "Take  me  with  you, 
horsie."  "Gid-ap,  gid-ap!  Climb  on,  dear  papa — "  And 
here's  the  soldier's  cap  made  of  pasteboard.     Poor  little  cap, 

hich  I  myself  tried  on  laughingly  when  I  bought  it  in  the 
shop:  "Who  are  you.^"  "I  am  a  knight,  papa.  I  am  the 
strongest,  bravest  knight  that  ever  was."  "Where  are  you 
going,  my  little  knight.'*"  "I  am  going  to  kill  the  dragon, 
dear  papa.  I  am  going  to  free  the  captives,  papa."  "Ride 
on,  ride  on,  my  little  knight!"  [The  Wife  of  Man  weeps] 
And  see,  here  is  our  clown,  just  as  he  always  looked,  with  his 
dear,  stupid  grin.  He  is  as  tattered  as  if  he  had  been  through 
a  hundred  fights,  but  he  is  still  laughing  and  his  nose  is  as 
red  as  ever.  Come,  ring  your  bells,  my  friend,  as  you  used 
to  ring  them.  You  can't  ?  Only  one  bell  left,  you  say  ?  Well, 
then,  I'll  throw  you  on  the  floor.       [He  throws  the  toy  down. 

Wife.  What  are  you  doing  .?*  Remember  how  often  our 
child  has  kissed  his  funny  little  face. 

Man.  Yes,  I  was  wrong.  Forgive  me,  my  dear,  and  you, 
little  toy,  forgive  me,  too.  [He  picks  up  the  toy,  bending  his 
knees  yyith  difficulty]  Still  smiling!  Come,  I  will  lay  you  a 
little  farther  away.  Don't  be  angry;  I  cannot  look  at  your 
smile  just  now.     Go  and  smile  somewhere  else. 

Wife.  Your  words  wring  my  heart.  Believe  me,  our  son 
will  recover.  Would  it  be  just  for  the  young  to  die  before 
the  old? 


ACT  IV  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN  121 

Man.  Where  have  you  ever  seen  justice  in  this  world,^ 
Wife? 

Wife.  My  beloved,  I  beg  you,  kneel  with  me  in  prayer  to 
God. 

Man.  It  is  hard  for  my  old  knees  to  bend. 

Wife.  Bend  them — it  is  your  duty. 

Man.  God  will  not  hear  me,  for  never  yet  have  I  troubled 
his  ear  either  with  praise  or  with  petition.  Do  you  pray; 
you  are  the  mother. 

Wife.  No,  you  must  pray;  you  are  the  father.  If  a 
father  doesn't  pray  for  his  son,  who  will  ?  To  whose  hands 
will  you  commit  him?  Could  I  speak  alone  as  we  two  can 
speak  together  ? 

Man.  Let  it  be  as  you  say.  Perhaps,  if  I  bend  my  aged 
knees,  eternal  justice  will  answer. 

They  both  fall  on  their  knees,  their  faces  turned  toward  the 
comer  where  the  Unknown  stands  motionless,  and 
their  hands  folded  on  their  breasts  in  attitude  of  prayer. 

Prayer  of  the  Mother 

O  God,  I  beseech  you,  let  my  son  live.  That  is  all  I  know, 
that  is  all  I  can  say — only  this  one  thing:  **God,  let  my  son 
live.'*  I  cannot  frame  other  words.  All  about  me  is  dark. 
All  is  falling  away.  I  understand  nothing,  and  my  soul  is  so 
filled  with  horror,  O  Lord,  that  I  can  say  only  one  thing. 
O  God,  let  my  son  live,  let  my  son  live!  Let  him  live! 
Forgive  me  for  uttering  so  poor  a  prayer,  but  I  cannot  do 
otherwise,  O  Lord;  you  know  I  cannot.  Look  upon  me, 
only  look  upon  me.  Do  you  see,  do  you  see  how  my  head 
trembles?  Do  you  see  how  my  hands  shake?  And  what 
are  my  hands,  O  Lord  ?  Have  mercy  upon  him  !  He  is  so 
young.  He  has  a  birthmark  on  his  right  arm.  I^t  him  live, 
if  only  a  little  while,  only  a  little  while !    He  is  only  a  child. 


122  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN  activ 

and  so  innocent.     He  still  loves  sweets,  and  I  bought  him 
some  grapes.     Have  mercy,  have  mercy ! 

She  weeps  silently ^  covering  her  face  with  her  hands. 
Without  looking  at  her  Man  speaks. 

Prayer  of  the  Father 

See,  I  am  praying  to  you.  I  have  bent  my  aged  knees.  I 
have  fallen  in  the  dust  before  you.  See,  I  kiss  the  earth. 
Perhaps  I  have  sometimes  offended  you.  In  that  case, 
pardon  me,  pardon  me.  It  is  true  that  I  have  been  presump- 
tuous and  overbold,  that  I  have  demanded  instead  of  be- 
seeching, and  that  I  have  often  reproached  you  for  your 
acts.  Pardon  me.  If  you  desire,  if  such  is  your  will,  pun- 
ish me.  Only  spare  my  son;  spare  him,  I  pray  you.  I  do 
not  beg  for  mercy  or  for  pity;  no,  I  beg  only  for  justice. 
You  are  old  and  I,  too,  as  you  see,  am  old.  You  will  under- 
stand my  prayer  the  better  for  that.  Wicked  people  tried 
to  kill  him,  people  who  by  their  evil  deeds  insult  you  and 
pollute  the  earth — malicious,  brutal,  villainous  people,  who 
throw  stones  from  behind  corners — from  behind  corners,  the 
villains !  Let  not  this  wicked  thing  be  done.  Stanch  his 
blood.  Bring  back  his  life,  bring  back  life  to  my  fine  boy. 
You  have  taken  everything  from  me,  but  have  I  ever  impor- 
tuned you.f*  Have  I  said.  Restore  my  wealth,  restore  my 
friends,  restore  my  genius?  No,  never.  I  never  asked  you 
even  for  my  genius,  and  you  know  what  genius  means — 
how  it  is  more  to  one  than  life  itself.  It  is  the  will  of  fate, 
I  thought,  and  I  bore  everything,  I  bore  everything,  I  bore 
it  proudly.  But  now,  on  my  knees  in  the  dust,  kissing  the 
earth,  I  beg  of  you,  bring  back  life  to  my  son.  I  kiss  the 
earth. 

They  rise.     The  Being  called  He  listens  with  indiffer- 
ence to  the  prayer  of  the  father  and  the  mother. 


ACT  IV  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN  123 

Wife.  I  fear  that  your  prayer,  my  dear,  was  not  sufficiently 
humble.     There  seemed  to  be  a  note  of  pride  in  it. 

Man.  No,  no,  Wife.  I  said  what  was  right,  just  as  a  man 
should  speak.  Should  He  love  cringing  flatterers  more  than 
bold,  proud  people  who  speak  the  truth  ?  No,  Wife,  you  don't 
understand.  Now  I  have  faith,  now  I  am  calm,  even  cheer- 
ful. I  feel  that  I  am  still  of  some  service  to  my  son,  and  that 
heartens  me.  See  whether  he  is  sleeping.  He  ought  to  be 
sleeping  soundly. 

The  Wife  goes  out.  Man  casts  a  friendly  glance  into 
the  comer  where  the  Being  in  Grey  stands.  He  takes 
up  the  toy  clown,  plays  with  it,  and  gently  kisses  its 
long,  red  nose.  At  this  moment  the  Wife  comes  in 
and  Man,  somewhat  embarrassed,  says:  "I  oflFended 
this  poor  fool,  but  now  I  have  begged  pardon  for 
everything.  Well,  how  is  our  dear  son?" 
Wife.  He  is  very  pale. 

Man.  That's  nothing.  It  will  pass.  He  has  lost  a  great 
deal  of  blood. 

Wife.  His  pale,  shaved  head  is  so  pitiful  to  see.  He  had 
such  beautiful  golden  curls. 

Man.  They  cut  them  off  in  order  to  wash  the  wound. 
But  never  mind.  Wife,  never  mind.  They  will  grow  out  still 
finer.  Did  you  gather  them  up?  They  must  be  gathered 
up  and  preserved.     His  precious  blood  is  on  them.  Wife. 

Wife.  Yes,  I  have  laid  them  away  in  the  jewel  box,  all 
that  is  left  of  our  wealth. 

Man.  Do  not  lament  the  loss  of  our  wealth.  Wait  imtil 
our  son  begins  to  work.  He  will  win  back  all  that  we  have 
lost.  Now  I  am  cheerful,  my  dear,  I  have  faith  in  our  future. 
Do  you  remember  our  poor  rose-tinted  room?  The  good 
neighbours  strewed  oak  leaves  about  it,  and  you  made  a 
wreath  for  my  head  and  said  I  was  a  genius. 


124  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN  activ 

Wife.  And  I  say  it  even  now,  my  dear.  If  other  people 
have  ceased  to  value  you,  I  have  not. 

Man.  No,  my  dear  little  Wife,  you  are  wrong.  The  crea- 
tions of  genius  live  longer  than  this  wretched  old  garment 
that  we  call  our  body,  but  even  during  my  lifetime  my  works 
are 

Wife.  No,  they  are  not  dead  and  will  never  die.  Recall 
the  house  on  the  corner  which  you  built  ten  years  ago.  Every 
evening  at  sunset  you  go  to  look  at  it.  Is  there  in  the  whole 
city  a  building  more  beautiful,  more  meaningful  ? 

Man.  True.  I  so  built  it  that  the  last  rays  of  the  setting 
sun  might  fall  upon  it  and  set  its  windows  ablaze.  After 
the  whole  city  is  in  darkness,  my  building  is  still  bidding 
farewell  to  the  sun.  That  was  work  well  done,  and  perhaps 
it  will  outlive  me,  if  only  a  little.     Don't  you  think  so  ? 

Wife.  Of  course  it  will,  my  dear. 

Man.  One  thing  grieves  me,  Wife.  Why  am  I  so  soon 
forgotten?  I  might  have  been  remembered  a  little  longer, 
my  dear,  a  little  longer. 

Wife.  People  forget  what  they  once  knew.  They  cease 
to  love  what  they  once  loved. 

Man.  They  might  have  remembered  me  somewhat  longer, 
somewhat  longer. 

Wife.  I  saw  a  young  artist  near  the  house.  He  was  study- 
ing the  building  carefully  and  was  making  a  sketch  of  it  in 
his  note-book. 

Man.  Why  did  you  not  tell  me  of  that,  my  dear  ?  That 
is  significant,  very  significant.  It  means  that  my  thoughts 
will  pass  on  to  others,  and  even  though  I  am  forgotten,  yet 
my  thoughts  will  live  on.  That  is  very  important,  extremely 
important. 

Wife.  They  have  certainly  not  forgotten  you,  my  dear. 


ACT  IV  THE   LIFE  OF  MAN  125 

Think  of  the  young  man  who  bowed  to  you  so  respectfully 
on  the  street. 

Man.  True,  Wife.  A  fine  young  man,  very.  He  had  a 
glorious  young  face.  It  is  well  that  you  remind  me  of  this. 
It  has  filled  my  soul  with  sunshine.  But  I  feel  sleepy.  I 
am  probably  tired.  Yes;  and  I  am  old.  My  grey  little  Wife, 
do  you  see  that  I  am  old? 

Wife.  You  are  still  as  handsome  as  ever. 

Man.  And  my  eyes  shine  ^  ^^^ 

Wife.  Yes,  your  eyes  shine. 

Man.  And  my  hair  is  black  as  pitch  ? 

Wife.  It  is  as  white  as  snow,  which  is  even  more  handsome. 

Man.  And  I  have  no  wrinkles  ? 

Wife.  There  are  a  few  little  wrinkles,  but 

Man.  Of  course.  I  know  that  I  am  a  handsome  fellow. 
To-morrow  I  will  buy  a  uniform  and  enter  the  light  brigade. 
Won't  that  be  fine? 

Wife.  [Smiling]  Now  you  are  joking  as  you  used.  Well, 
lie  down,  my  dear,  and  take  a  short  nap  and  I  will  go  to  our 
son.  Rest  quietly;  I  will  not  leave  him  until  he  wakes,  and 
then  I  will  call  you.  You  don't  like  to  kiss  my  wrinkled 
old  hand,  do  you  ?  [Man  kisses  it. 

Man.  Nonsense!  You  are  the  most  beautiful  woman  in 
the  world. 

Wife.  But  the  wrinkles  ? 

Man.  Wrinkles?  I  see  a  dear,  kind,  good,  intelligent 
face;  nothing  more.  Don't  be  angry  with  me  for  my  harsh- 
ness. Go  to  our  son.  Guard  him.  Sit  by  him  like  a  quiet 
shadow  of  tenderness  and  comfort.  And  if  he  grows  restless 
in  his  sleep,  sing  him  a  little  song  as  of  old.  And  set  the 
grapes  nearer  so  that  he  can  reach  them. 

The  Wife  goes  out.     Man  lies  down  on  the  lounge  wUh 
his  head  toward  the  comer  where  the  Being  in  Grey 


126  THE  LIFE   OF  MAN  activ 

stands  motionless.     Man's  position  is  such  that  the 
hand  of  the  Being  almost  touches  his  grey,  dishevelled 
hair.    He  quickly  falls  asleep. 
The  Being  in  Grey.    Man,  flattered  by  his  hopes,  has 
fallen  into  a  deep  and  grateful  sleep.     His  breathing  is  as 
quiet  as  a  child's,  and  his  aged  heart,  resting  from  its  suffer=_j/ 
ings,  beats  calmly  and  evenly.     He  does  not  know  that  in/' 
a  few  moments  his  son  will  die.   ''And,  as  he  sleeps,  in  his* 
mysterious    fancies    an    impossible   happiness   rises    before 
him.  [^ 


He  dreams  that  he  is  riding  with  his  son  in  a  white  boat 
over  a  beautiful,  smooth  river.  He  dreams  that  it  is  a  beau- 
tiful day  and  that  he  sees  the  blue  sky  and  the  transparent, 
crystal  water.  He  hears  the  reeds  rustle  as  they  part  be- 
fore the  boat.  He  is  filled  with  joy  and  he  fancies  that  he  is 
blessed.     All  his  emotions  are  deceiving  him. 

But  suddenly  he  becomes  restless.  The  terrible  truth, 
penetrating  the  dense  veil  of  his  dreams,  has  seared  his 
thought. 

"Why  is  your  golden  hair  cut  so  short,  my  boy;  why  is 
it.?" 

"My  head  ached,  father,  and  that  is  why  my  hair  was 
cut  so  short." 

And  again  deceived,  Man  is  happy  and  sees  the  blue  sky 
and  hears  the  reeds  rustling  as  they  part. 

He  does  not  know  that  his  son  is  already  dying.  He  does 
not  hear  how  in  a  last  wild  hope,  with  childish  faith  in  the 
power  of  older  persons,  his  son  calls  him,  without  words,  with 
the  cry  of  his  heart,  "Papa,  papa,  I  am  dying!  I  am  slip- 
ping away!  Hold  me!"  Man's  sleep  is  deep  and  joyous,  and 
in  his  mysterious  and  deceiving  visions  an  impossible  happi- 
ness rises  before  him. 

Awake,  Man !    Your  son  is  dead ! 


ACT  IV  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN  127 

Man.  [Terrified,  raises  his  head  and  gets  up]  Ah!  Did 
soDoe  one  call  me  ? 

At  the  same  moment  the  weeping  of  many  women  is  heard 
in  the  next  room.     With  high-pitched  voices  they  are 
uttering  long-drawn-out  lamentation  over  the  dead. 
Enter  the  Wife,  pale  as  death. 
Man.  Is  our  son  dead  ? 
Wife.  Yes,  lie  is  dead. 
Man.  Did  he  call  me  ? 

Wife.  No,  he  did  not  wake.  He  called  no  one.  He  is 
dead,  my  son,  mj^  precious  child ! 

She  falls  on  her  knees  before  Man  and  sobs,  throwing  her 
arms  about  his  knees.     Man  places  his  hand  upon  her 
head,  and,  in  a  voice  choked  with  sobs  but  threatening, 
he  speaks,  his  face  toward  the  comer  where  the  Being 
in  Grey  stands,  indifferent. 
Man.  You  have  offended  a  woman,  villain !    You  have 
killed  our  boy.  [The  Wife  sobs.     Man  with  trembling  hand    t^ 
quietly  smooths  her  hair]  Don't  weep,  my  dear,  don't  weep.     I 
He  will  laugh  at  our  tears,  as  he  laughed  at  our  prayers.     I 
But  you  (I  know  not  who  you  are,  God,  the  Devil,  Fate,  or    / 
Life) — I  curse  you. 

He  speaks  thefollovnng  with  a  loud,  strong  voice,  vrith  one 
hand  held  over  his  wife,  as  if  to  defend  her,  the  other 
threateningly  extended  toward  the  Unknown. 

The  Curse  of  Man 

I  curse  all  that  you  have  given  me!  I  curse  the  day  on 
which  I  was  born  !  I  curse  the  day  on  which  I  shall  die !  I 
curse  my  whole  life,  my  joys,  and  my  grief!  I  curse  myself! 
I  curse  my  eyes,  my  ears,  my  tongue  !  I  curse  my  heart,  my 
head!  And  I  hurl  all  back  into  your  cruel  face,  senseless 
Fate!    Be  accursed,   be  accursed  for  ever!    Through  my 


128  THE   LIFE  OF  MAN  activ 

curse  I  rise  victorious  above  you.  What  more  can  you  do 
to  me  ?  Hurl  me  upon  the  ground,  yes,  hurl  me  down !  I 
shall  only  laugh  and  cry  out,  "Be  accursed ! "  Fetter  my  lips 
with  the  clamps  of  death,  and  my  last  thought  shall  be  a 
cry  into  your  ass's  ears,  "Be  accursed,  be  accursed !"  Seize 
upon  my  corpse,  gnaw  it  like  a  dog,  worry  it  in  the  darkness, 
— I  am  not  within  it.  I  have  vanished  and,  vanishing,  I  re- 
peat the  curse,  "Be  accursed,  be  accursed !"  Over  the  head 
of  the  woman  whom  you  have  offended,  over  the  body  of 
the  boy  whom  you  have  killed,  I  hurl  upon  you  the  curse 
of  Man ! 

He  stands  in  silence  toith  his  hand  raised  in  a  threaten- 
ing attitude.  The  Being  in  Grey  listens  with  in- 
difference to  the  curse,  and  the  flame  of  the  candle 
flutters  as  if  blown  by  the  wind.  For  some  time  the 
two  stand  facing  each  other  in  a  tense  silence — Man 
and  the  Being  in  Grey.  The  crying  in  the  next  room 
"  becomes  louder  and  more  prolonged  and  gradually 

passes  into  a  rhythmical  wailing. 

Curtain, 


ACT  V 

THE   DEATH   OF   MAN 

A  vague,  wavering,  flickering,  dim  light  through  which  one  can 
at  first  make  out  nothing.  When  the  eye  becomes  accus- 
tomed to  the  gloom,  the  foUotoing  scene  is  disclosed : 

A  long,  wide,  basement  room  with  a  very  low  ceiling  and  without 
windows.  A  flight  of  stairs  leads  from  the  room  to  the  en- 
trance,  somewhere  above.  The  walls  are  snwoth,  gloomy, 
and  dirty,  like  the  coarse,  spotted  hide  of  some  huge  beast. 
The  rear  wall,  as  far  a^  to  the  steps,  is  occupied  by  a  large, 
flat  buffet  with  a  mirror.  The  buffet  is  filled  with  straight 
rows  of  bottles  containing  liquids  of  various  colours.  Be- 
hind a  low  counter  sits  the  Bartender,  perfectly  motion- 
less, vjith  his  hands  folded  across  his  stomach.  He  has  a 
white  face  with  red  nose  and  cheeks,  a  bald  head,  and  a 
large,  sandy  beard,  and  wears  an  expression  of  complete 
calm  and  indifference.  He  remains  the  same  through  the 
entire  scene,  not  once  moving  from  his  place  or  changing  his 
attitude.  At  small  tables  sit  the  Drunkards,  on  wooden 
stools.  The  number  of  the  people  is  seemingly  increased 
by  their  shadows,  which  rove  along  the  walls  and  ceiling. 

The  scene  presents  an  endless  variety  of  the  disgusting  and  the 
horrible.  The  faces  resemble  masks,  the  parts  of  which  are 
disproportionately  large  or  small.  Some  have  large  noses, 
others  are  entirely  noseless.  The  eyes  roll  unldly,  almost 
bursting  from  their  sockets,  or  are  nearly  closed  so  that  they 
are  reduced  to  scarcely  visible  slits  and  points.  There  art 
129 


130  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN  actv 

prominent  Adam's  apples  and  diminutive  chins.  All  have 
tangled,  shaggy,  and  dirty  hair,  which  in  some  cases  half 
conceals  the  face.  In  spite  of  their  variety,  all  the  faces 
have  a  hideous  resemblance,  which  consists  in  a  sallow, 
grave-like  colour  and  an  expression  now  of  frightful  laughter 
and  now  of  insane  and  gloomy  horror. 

The  Drunkards  are  dressed  in  rags  of  one  colour,  which  ex- 
pose a  sallow,  bony  hand,  or  a  sharp  knee,  or  a  sunken, 
frightful  chest.  Some  are  nearly  naked.  The  women  are 
scarcely  distinguishable  from  the  men  and  are  even  uglier. 
The  hands  and  heads  of  all  tremble,  and  their  gait  is  un- 
steady, as  if  they  were  walking  on  very  slippery  or  boggy  or 
moving  surfaces.  Their  voices,  too,  are  alike  in  that  they 
are  wheezing,  whimpering,  and  as  unsteady  as  the  gait. 
They  utter  their  words  with  lips  which  do  not  obey  them  and 
which  are,  as  it  were,  stiffened  with  cold. 

In  the  centre  of  the  group,  at  a  separate  table,  sits  Man,  resting 
his  grey,  dishevelled  head  upon  his  hands.  He  remains 
throughout  in  the  same  position,  except  for  the  moment  that 
he  speaks.     He  is  shabbily  dressed. 

In  one  corner  the  Being  in  Grey  with  the  nearly  burned-out 
candle  stands  motionless.  The  narrow,  blue  flame  flutters, 
now  bending  to  one  side  and  now  reaching  upward  with  a 
sharp  tongue,  throwing  livid  spots  of  light  on  His  stony  face 
and  chin. 

Conversation  of  the  Drunkards 

My  God !    My  God ! 

Listen!  How  strangely  everything  shakes!  You  cannot 
fix  your  eyes  on  anything. 

Everything  trembles  as  in  a  fever:  people,  chairs,  and  the 
ceiling. 

Everything  sways  as  if  it  were  afloat, 


ACTv  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN  LSI 

Don't  you  hear  a  noise  ?  I  hear  a  noise  as  if  iron  wheels 
were  rumbling  or  stones  were  falling  from  a  cliff — huge 
stones,  falling  like  rain. 

That  is  the  noise  in  your  ears. 

That  is  the  noise  of  the  blood.  I  can  feel  my  blood,  thick, 
black,  and  smelling  of  rum.  It  rolls  heavily  along  the  veins, 
and  when  it  comes  to  the  heart  everything  seems  to  fall  and 
terror  seizes  me. 

I  seem  to  see  lightning  flashes. 

I  see  huge,  red  bonfires  and  people  burning  in  them. 
There's  a  disgusting  smell  of  burning  flesh !  Black  shadows 
whirl  about  the  bonfires,  drunken  shadows.  Ho,  there! 
Let  me  have  a  dance  with  you ! 

My  God !     My  God ! 

I,  too,  am  cheerful.  Who  will  laugh  with  me?  No  one 
wants  to.     Then  I  will  laugh  alone.  [He  laughs  alone. 

A  charming  woman  is  kissing  my  lips.  She  smells  of  musk 
and  her  teeth  are  like  a  crocodile's.  She  is  trying  to  bite  me. 
Away,  you  slattern ! 

I  am  not  a  slattern.  I  am  an  old,  pregnant  serpent.  For 
an  hour  I  have  been  watching  the  little  serpents  issuing  from 
my  body  and  crawling  about.  Take  care !  Don't  crush 
my  little  snakes ! 

Where  are  you  going? 

Who's  walking  about  there  ?  Sit  down  !  The  whole  house 
shakes  when  you  walk. 

I  can't  sit  still.     It  is  frightful  when  I  sit  still. 

It  is  frightful  for  me,  too.  When  I  sit  still  I  can  feel 
horror  running  through  my  body. 

So  can  I.     Let  me  go ! 

Three  or  four  drunkards  wander  aimlessly  about  with  wn- 
steady  steps,  stumbling  among  the  tables. 

See  what  it  is  doing!    For  two  hours  it  has  been  trying 


132  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN  actv 

to  jump  onto  my  knees.  It  comes  within  an  inch  of  it.  I 
drive  it  away,  but  it  comes  back.  That's  a  queer  sort  of 
game. 

Black  cockroaches  are  creeping  about  under  my  skull, 
making  a  crawling  noise. 

My  brain  is  falling  to  pieces.  I  can  feel  one  grey  fragment 
separate  from  the  other.  My  brain  is  like  spoiled  cheese — 
it  smells. 

It  smells  like  carrion  here. 

My  God!    My  God! 

To-night  I  will  crawl  to  her  on  my  knees  and  butcher  her. 
Blood  will  flow.     It  is  flowing  now — red  blood. 

Three  people  are  continually  following  me.  They  are 
calling  me  into  a  dark,  lonely  corner.  They  want  to  butcher 
me  there.     They  are  gathered  about  the  door  now. 

Who  is  that  walking  along  the  walls  and  ceiling? 

My  God !    They  have  come — they're  after  me ! 

Who? 

They. 

My  tongue  is  numb.  What  shall  I  do?  My  tongue  is 
numb.     I  will  weep.  [He  weeps. 

Everything  in  me  is  coming  out.  I  shall  turn  inside  out 
in  a  moment  and  be  red. 

Listen,  listen !  Ho,  somebody  !  A  monster  is  coming  upon 
me.     It  is  raising  its  hand.     Help !    Oh ! 

What's  this  ?     Help !    A  spider ! 

Help! 

[For  some  time  they  cry  wiih  hoarse  voices:   "Help  !'* 

We  are  all  drunkards.  Let's  call  everybody  down  here. 
Up  yonder  it  is  nasty. 

No,  don't.  When  I  go  out  on  the  street,  the  street  rushes 
about  like  a  wild  beast  and  quickly  throws  me  to  the  ground. 


ACTv  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN  1S3 

We  have  all  come  here  from  the  street.  We  drink  alcohol 
and  it  makes  us  happy. 

It  makes  us  miserable.     All  day  I  tremble  with  horror. 

Better  this  horror  than  life.     Who  wants  to  go  back  there  ? 

Not  I. 

Nor  I.     I'd  rather  die  here.     I  don't  want  to  live. 

Nobody  wants  to  live. 

My  God !    My  God ! 

Why  does  Man  come  here  ?  He  drinks  little  and  sits  long. 
We  do  not  need  him. 

Let  him  go  home.     He  has  a  home. 

He  has  fifteen  rooms. 

Don't  touch  him !    He  has  nowhere  else  to  go. 

He  has  fifteen  rooms. 

But  they  are  empty,  except  for  the  rats.  The  rats  run 
about  in  them  and  fight.  c- 

But  his  wife  ?  'j. 

He  has  nobody.    Probably  his  wife  is  dead.  e 

His  wife  is  dead. 

His  wife  is  dead. 

During  this  conversation  and  that  which  follows,  the  Old 
Women  in  strange  garments  enter  noiselessly  and 
without  attracting  attention  replace  the  quietly  vnih' 
drawing  Drunkards.  They  mingle  in  the  conversa- 
tion, hut  so  gradually  that  no  one  notices  it. 

Conversation  of  the  Drunkards  and  the  Old  Women 

Old  Woman.  He  will  soon  die.  He  is  so  feeble  he  can 
scarcely  walk. 

Drunkard.  He  has  fifteen  rooms. 

Old  Woman.  Listen  to  his  heart.  How  imevcnly  and 
feebly  it  beats.     It  will  soon  stop. 


134  THE  LIFE   OF  MAN  act  v 

Drunkard.  Invite  us  to  your  house,  Man.  You  have 
fifteen  rooms. 

Old  Woman.  It  will  soon  stop — the  big,  old,  feeble  heart 
of  Man. 

Drunkard.  He  is  asleep,  the  drunken  fool.  It  is  fright- 
ful to  sleep,  and  yet  he  sleeps  on.  He  might  die  in  his  sleep. 
Hey,  there !     Wake  him  up ! 

Old  Woman.  Do  you  recall  how  his  heart  used  to  beat — 
fresh  and  strong  '^ 

Subdued  laughter. 

Drunkard.  Who's  laughing?     There  are  intruders  here. 

Drunkard.  Only  in  your  imagination.  There  is  no  one 
here  but  us — us  drunkards. 

Drunkard.  I  will  go  out  on  the  street  and  raise  a  dis- 
turbance. I  have  been  robbed.  I  am  coifipletely  naked.  I 
have  a  green  skin. 

Old  Woman.  Good  evening. 

Drunkard.  Again  the  wheels  are  rumbling.     My  God! 
They  will  crush  me.     Help  ! 
No  one  answers. 

Old  Woman.  Good  evening. 

Old  Woman.  Do  you  remember  how  he  was  born.'* 

Old  Woman.  I  think  you  were  there. 

Drunkard.  It  must  be  I  am  dj^ing.     My  God !     My  God ! 

Who  will  carry  me  to  the  grave .f*     Who  will  bury  me.''     I 

\     (  shall  lie  about  like  a  dog  in  the  street.     People  will  w^alk  over 

me.     Carriages  will  ride  over  me.     They  will  crush  me.     My 

God !    My  God !  [Ee  weeps. 

Old  Woman.  Allow  me  to  congratulate  you,  my  dear  kins- 
man, on  the  birth  of  your  son. 

Drunkard.  I  am  firmly  convinced  that  there  is  an  error 
here.  A  straight  line  that  presents  the  form  of  a  closed 
circle  is  simply  ridiculous. 


i^f 


ACTv  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN  135 

Drunkard.  I  will  prove  it  to  you  in  a  jiffy.  \ 

Drunkard.  You  are  quite  right.  j 

Drunkard.  My  God  !     My  God !  ^ 

Drunkard.  Only  people  who  are  ignorant  of  mathematics 
will  admit  it.  I  won't  admit  it.  Do  you  hear.'*  I  won't 
admit  it. 

Old  Woman.  Do  you  remember  the  rose-coloured  dress 
and  the  naked  throat? 

Old  Woman.  And  the  flowers — the  lilies-of-the-valley  on 
which  the  dew  had  not  yet  dried,  and  the  violets,  and  the 
green  grass  ? 

Old  Woman.  Don't  touch  them,  girls !  Don't  touch  the 
flowers ! 

Subdued  laughter. 
Drunkard.*  My  God !     My  God  ! 

The  Drunkards  are  all  gone.  Their  places  are  oc- 
cupied by  the  Old  Women  with  strange  garments. 
The  light,  though  very  faint,  becomes  steady.  The 
figure  of  the  Unknown  comes  sharply  out  as  does  also 
the  grey  head  of  Man,  upon  which  from  above  falls  a 
feeble  light. 

Conversation  of  the  Old  Women 

Good  evening. 

Good  evening.     What  a  glorious  night ! 

Well,  we  are  together  again.     How  are  you  ? 

I  have  a  cough. 

Subdued  laughter. 

It  won't  be  long  now.     He  will  soon  die. 

Look  at  the  candle.  The  flame  is  blue  and  narrow  and 
droops  toward  the  sides.  There  is  no  wax  left  now — only 
the  wick  is  burning. 

It  does  not  want  to  go  out. 


136  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN  actv 

When  did  you  ever  see  a  flame  that  wanted  to  go  out  ? 

Stop  quarrelling!  Stop  quarrelling!  Whether  it  wants  to 
go  out  or  not,  time  is  passing. 

Do  you  remember  his  automobile?  Once  it  almost 
crushed  me. 

And  his  fifteen  rooms? 

I  have  just  been  there.  I  was  nearly  eaten  by  the  rats, 
and  I  caught  cold  from  the  draughts.  Now  that  some  one 
has  stolen  the  windows,  the  wind  sweeps  through  the  whole 
house. 

Did  you  lie  on  the  bed  where  his  wife  died?  How  soft  it 
is,  isn't  it  ? 

Yes,  I  went  through  all  the  rooms  and  mused  a  bit.  They 
have  such  a  dear  nursery.  Only  it  is  too  bad  that  the  win- 
dows are  broken  there,  too,  and  the  wind  rustles  amid  the 
dust.  The  child's  little  bed  is  so  dear!  The  mice  have  now 
built  their  nests  in  it  and  are  raising  their  families. 

Such  dear  little  naked  micelets. 
Subdued  laughter. 

And  in  the  study  on  the  table  lie  the  toys — the  horse 
without  a  tail,  the  soldier  cap,  and  the  red-nosed  clown.  I 
played  a  bit  with  them.  I  put  on  the  cap.  It  quite  becomes 
me.  But  there's  a  terrible  lot  of  dust  on  them.  I  was  just 
covered  with  dirt. 

But  were  you  not  in  the  hall  where  the  dance  took  place  ? 
It  is  so  cheerful  there! 

Yes,  I  was  there,  but  just  imagine  what  I  saw.  It  was 
dark.  The  panes  were  all  broken  and  the  wind  was  rustling 
in  the  wall-paper 

It  makes  a  sound  like  music. 

And  along  the  wall  in  the  darkness  were  squatted  the  guests. 
Oh,  if  you  only  knew  how  they  looked ! 


ACTv  THE   LIFE  OF  MAN  187 

We  know ! 

And  with  grinning  teeth  they  barked  abruptly:    "How 
costly!     How  gorgeous  ! " 
Surely  you  are  joking! 

Of  course  I  am  joking.     You  know  how  jolly  I  am. 
How  costly !     How  luxurious ! 
How  gorgeous ! 

Subdued  laughter. 
Remind  him. 

How  costly !     How  gorgeous ! 
Do  you  remember  the  music  at  your  ball  ? 
He  will  soon  die. 

The  dancers  circled  about  and  the  music  played  so  tenderly, 
so  beautifully.     This  is  the  way  it  played. 

They  form  a  semicircle  about  Man  and  in  a  low  voice 
hum  the  tune  that  was  played  at  the  ball. 
Let's  have  a  ball.     It  is  so  long  since  I  have  danced. 
Just  imagine  that  this  is  a  palace,  a  miraculously  beau- 
tiful palace. 

Call  the  musicians !     You  cannot  have  a  good  dance  with- 
out music. 
Musicians ! 
Do  you  remember  ? 

They  strike  up  the  tune  and  at  the  same  moment  the  three 
musicians  who  played  at  the  ball  descend  the  stairs. 
The  one  with  a  violin  carefully  spreads  the  handker- 
chief over  his  shoulder,  and  all  three  begin  to  play  unth 
extreme  painstaking,  though  the  sounds  are  low,  soft, 
and  sad  as  in  a  dream. 
Now  we  have  a  ball ! 
How  costly !    How  gorgeous ! 
How  brilliant ! 


138  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN  actv 

Do  you  remember  ? 

Humming  in  a  low  tone  in  time  with  the  music,  they 
begin  to  circle  about  Man,  posturing  and  repeating 
with  wild  distortions  the  movements  of  the  girls  in 
white  robes  who  danced  at  the  ball.  During  the  first 
musical  phrase  they  circle  about,  and  during  the  second 
they  approach  each  other  and  then  draw  apart  grace- 
fully and  silently.     They  whisper  in  low  voices. 

Do  you  remember  ? 

You  will  soon  die,  but  do  you  remember  ? 

Do  you  remember  ? 

Do  you  remember  ? 

You  will  soon  die,  but  do  you  remember  ? 

Do  you  remember  ? 

The  dance  becomes  swifter  and  the  movements  more  jerky. 
Through  the  voices  of  the  Old  Women  who  are  sing- 
ing there  glide  strange,  tvhimpering  notes;  and  the 
same  strange  laughter,  as  yet  subdued,  runs  like  a  low 
rustling  through  the  dancers.  As  they  sweep  past 
Man  they  discharge,  as  it  were,  into  his  ears  abrupt 
whispers : 

Do  you  remember  ? 

Do  you  remember  ? 

How  tender !     How  fine ! 

How  restful  to  the  soul ! 

Do  you  remember  ? 

You  will  soon  die.     You  will  soon  die.     You  will  soon 
die 

Do  you  remember? 

The  whirling  dance  becomes  swifter  and  the  movements 
still  more  abrupt.  Suddenly  all  is  silent  and  motion- 
less. The  musicians  become  rigid,  with  their  instru- 
ments in  their  haiids.     The  dancing  women  are  motion- 


ACTv  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN  13d 

less  in  the  same  attitudes  in  which  the  oncoming  of 
silence  found  them. 

Man  rises,  straightens  himself  y  thrcrws  back  threaten- 
ingly his  beautiful  grey  head,  and  cries  out  in  a  chal- 
lenging voice,  unexpectedly  loud  and  full  of  sorrow  and 
anger.     After  each  brief  utterance  there  is  a  short  but 
profound  silence. 
Man.  Where  is  my  armour-bearer?    Where  my  sword? 
Where   is    my  shield?     I  am    weaponless.     Come    hither 
quickly,  quickly.     Be  accurs 

[He  sinks  upon  a  chair  wiih  head  thrown  back  and  dies. 

At  the  same  instant  the  candle,  flaring  up,  goes  out,  and 
a  deep  gloom  envelops  all  objects.  It  is  as  though  the 
gloom  were  pouring  down  the  stairway  and  gradually 
spreading  over  everything.  Only  the  face  of  Man  ia 
illuminated.  Low,  indistinct  conversation  of  the  Old 
Women,  whispering  and  interchanging  laughter. 
The  Being  in  Grey.     Silence !    Man  is  dead. 

Profound  silence,  during  which  the  same  cold,  indiffer- 
ent voice  repeats  the  words  from  the  far  distance  like 
an  echo:  "Silence!  Man  is  dead."  Profound  si- 
lence. Slowly  the  gloom  becomes  thicker,  but  the  mice- 
like  figures  of  the  Old  Women  watchers  can  still  be 
seen.  Now  quietly  and  silently  they  begin  to  circle 
about  the  corpse.  Then  they  begin  to  hum  in  a  low 
tone,  and  the  musicians  begin  to  play.  The  gloom  be- 
comes still  more  dense,  and  as  the  music  and  singing 
become  louder  and  louder  the  wild  dance  becomes  more 
unrestrained.  They  are  no  longer  dancing  but  wildly 
whirling  about  the  corpse,  stamping  and  shrieking  iciih 
continuous,  wild  laughter.  Absolute  darkness  ensues. 
The  face  of  the  dead  is  still  illumined,  hut  preserUly 
that  also  vanishes.     Black,  impenetrable  darkness. 


140  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN  actv 

In  the  darkness  one  can  hear  the  inovements  of  the  wild 
dancers  J  the  shrieking,  the  laughter,  and  the  discordant 
and  desperately  loud  sounds  of  the  orchestra.  Having 
attained  their  greatest  intensity,  all  these  sounds  quickly 
toithdraw  somewhere  and  die  away.     Silence, 

Curtain. 


ACT  V 

THE   DEATH   OF   MAN 

(vakiant) 

[It  was  only  after  "The  Life  of  Man'*  had  been  presented 
on  the  stage  that  I  became  convinced  I  had  fallen  into  error 
— both  as  regards  the  form  and  also  as  regards  the  funda- 
mental meaning  of  the  play. 

As  for  the  form,  I  could  be  content  to  leave  the  play  un- 
changed. Written  in  a  period  of  doubts  and  fears,  it  might 
be  allowed  to  stand  as  my  first  attempt  at  a  neo-realistic 
drama.  Sins  against  the  fundamental  meaning  are,  however, 
quite  another  matter. 

Leaving  it  to  others  to  judge  how  far  I  am  right  and  how 
far  I  am  wrong  in  my  interpretation  of  the  meaning  of  human 
life,  I  am  bound,  both  for  my  own  sake  and  for  the  purpose 
of  greater  consistency  and  clearness,  to  correct  such  defects 
in  the  play  as  either  obscure  its  fundamental  idea  or  present 
that  idea  in  an  incomplete  and  unfinished  form. 

In  the  fifth  act,  a  variant  of  which  I  now  offer,  the  most 
essential  defect  was  the  incorporation  into  the  drama  of  a 
relatively  incidental  element,  namely,  the  Drunkards,  and 
the  absence  of  so  essential  a  group,  and  a  group  so  important 
in  life  as  the  Heirs,  who  naturally  complete  the  groups  of 
Kinsmen,  Friends,  and  Enemies  of  Man. 

By  introducing  into  the  drama  the  barroom  and  the 
Drunkards  I  did  not,  of  course,  intend  to  imply  that  every 
man  dies  inevitably  in  a  barroom.     Nevertheless,  several  of 

141 


142  THE   LIFE   OF  MAN  act  v 

my  critics  quite  erroneously  drew  the  following  series  of  in- 
ferences: "I  do  not  go  to  barrooms,  consequently  this  is  not 
true,  consequently  I  shall  never  die,  consequently  what  sort 
of  a  Life  of  Man  is  this  ?"  But  the  loneliness  of  Man  dying 
in  misfortune,  to  suggest  which  these  people,  themselves  so 
solitary  and  unfortunate,  were  introduced,  may  be  indicated 
fully  by  the  presence  of  the  heirs.  While  the  Drunkards 
merely  give  Man  an  opportunity  to  die  in  solitude,  the  Heirs, 
on  the  other  hand,  with  the  natural  pitilessness  of  all  succes- 
sors, not  only  urge  him  to  die,  but  aqtually  force  death  upon 
him.  Succession  is  an  important  element  which  I  left  out  of 
consideration  in  my  first  picture  of  *'The  Death  of  Man." 

Mercy  was  absent  from  my  play,  and  this  also  seemed  to 
many  to  be  unjust.  In  the  present  version  it  is  represented 
in  the  character  of  the  Sister  of  Mercy,  and  although  during 
the  whole  of  the  act  she  does  not  open  her  eyes  once,  yet  her 
very  presence  bears  witness  to  the  fact  that  mercy  really 
exists. 

Reminding  my  readers,  however,  that  justice  is  merely  a 
new  or  as  yet  unexposed  error,  I  bring  to  a  close  my  explana- 
tions (perhaps  superfluous)  and  submit  this  new  version  of 
"The  Death  of  Man"  to  the  kindly  judgment  of  the  reader. 

Author.] 

The  high,  gloomy  room  in  which  the  Son  and  the  Wife  of  Man 
died.  On  everything  lies  the  stamp  of  ruin  and  death. 
The  walls  are  warped  and  threaten  to  fall.  The  corners 
are  overspread  with  cobwebs — regular,  light-coloured  circles 
inextricably  interlaced.  From  the  sagging  ceiling  likewise 
hang  dark-grey  clumps  of  abandoned  spider-webs.  The 
two  tall  windows  have  been  forced  inward  and  are  bent  as 

i   though  by  the  steady  and  persistent  pressure  of  the  infinitude 
of  darkness  which  surrounds  the  house  of  Man.     Should 


\ 


ACTv  THE   LIFE   OF  MAN  143 

the  windows  not  hold  firm — should  they  fall  inward — the 
darkness  would  pour  into  the  room  and  extinguish  the 
feeble,  dying  light  by  which  it  is  illuminated. 

In  the  rear  wall  a  zigzag  stairway  leads  upward  to  the  rooms 
where  once  the  ball  was  given.  At  the  foot  of  the  stairs  the 
warped,  decayed  steps  can  be  seen,  but  farther  upvmrd  they 
are  lost  in  a  dense  and  frowning  darkness.  By  this  wall 
stands  a  bed  under  a  sagging,  torn  baldachin — the  bed  on 
which  the  Wife  of  Man  died. 

On  the  right  is  the  dark  opening  of  a  large,  cold,  long-disused 
fireplace,  in  which,  in  a  great  heap  of  grey,  dead  ashes,  can 
be  seen  a  white  sheet  of  partly  burned  paper,  apparently  a 
design.  Before  the  fireplace  in  an  armchair  Man  sits 
motionless,  dying.  In  his  torn  gown  and  unkempt  grey 
hair  and  beard  one  can  see  the  complete  abandonment  and 
solitude  of  death.  Some  little  distance  from  Man,  in  an 
armchair  of  the  same  sort,  sits  a  Sister  of  Mercy,  fast 
asleep,  a  white  cross  on  her  breast.  During  the  whole  ad 
she  does  not  once  waken. 

About  the  dying  man  are  seated  the  Heirs,  surrounding  him 
closely  in  a  circle  of  eagerly  outstretched  faces.  There  are 
seven  of  them,  three  women  and  four  men.  Their  necks  are 
greedily  stretched  out  toward  Man,  their  mouths  are  half- 
opened,  expressing  avarice,  and  the  fingers  on  their  uplifted      \  ^ 


I  hands  are  hooked  stifily  like  the  claws  of  birds  of  prey. 

f  Among  them  there  are  large,  well-fed  people,  particularly 

one  gentleman,  whose  fat  body  welters  formlessly  upon  the 
chair;  but,  from  the  manner  in  which  they  sit  and  in  which 
they  look  at  Man,  one  can  see  that  they  have  been  hungry 
all  their  lives,  that  all  their  lives  they  have  been  awaiting  the 
inheritance,  and  that  apparently  they  are  still  hungry. 
In  one  corner  the  Being  in  Grey,  with  the  candle  nearly  burned 
out,  stands  motionless.     The  narrow,  blue  flame  flutters^ 


144  THE   LIFE   OF   MAN  actv 

ruyw  bending  to  one  side  and  nmv  reaching  upward  with  a 
sharp  tongue,  and  throws  livid  spots  of  light  on  His  stony 
face  and  chin. 

Conversation  of  the  Heirs 

They  speak  in  loud  voices. 
\ .   Dear  kinsman,  are  you  sleeping  ? 
^     Dear  kinsman,  are  you  sleeping  ? 
^   Dear  kinsman,  are  you  sleeping  or  not  ?    Answer  us. 
We  are  your  friends. 
Your  heirs. 
Answer  us. 

Man  is  silent.     The  Heirs  change  their  voices  to  a  loud 
whisper. 
He  says  nothing. 
He  doesn't  hear.     He  is  deaf. 
/   No,  he  is  only  pretending.     He  hates  us,  and  he  would  be 
Jglad  to  drive  us  away,  but  he  can't.     We  are  his  heirs. 

Every  time  we  come  he  looks  at  us  as  if  we  had  come  to 
^kill  him.     As  if  he  were  not  dying  of  himself ! 
The  fool ! 

That's  from  old  age.  All  people  become  fools  in  their  old 
age. 

No,  it's  his  greed.  He  would  be  glad  to  carry  everything 
with  him  to  the  grave.  He  doesn't  know  that  man  goes  to 
the  grave  empty-handed. 

Why  do  you  so  hate  our  dear  kinsman  ? 
Because  he  is  slow  in  dying.  [Louder]  Old  man,  why  don't 
you  die.^     You  are  spoiling  our  life.     You  are  robbing  us. 
Your  clothes  are  torn  and  rotten,  your  house  is  tumbling 
down,  your  furniture  is  getting  old  and  losing  its  value. 
That  is  true,  he  is  robbing  us. 
Sh!    Why  shout? 


ACTv  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN  145 

Old  man,  you  are  stripping  us  of  our  own. 

But  perhaps  our  dear  kinsman  hears  us. 

Let  him  hear.     It  is  always  good  to  hear  the  truth. 

But  perhaps  he  has  still  enough  strength  to  make  a  will 
and  deprive  us  of  the  inheritance. 

Do  you  think  so  ? 

They  laugh  affectedly.     They  speak  softly  with  assumed 
tenderness,  but  yet  so  loud  that  Man  can  hear  them. 

Nonsense.  He  was  always  an  intelligent  man  with  a  sense 
of  humour,  and  he  understands  a  joke  perfectly  well.  Is  it 
not  true,  my  dear  kinsman? 

Of  course  we  were  joking. 

We  can  wait  any  length  of  time;  it  is  only  that  we  are 
sorry  for  him.  It's  so  sad  to  sit  day  and  night  all  alone 
before  the  empty  fireplace.    Is  it  not  true,  dear  kinsman  ? 

Why  doesn't  he  go  to  bed  ? 

Oh,  it  is  just  a  little  whim.  His  wife  died  on  this  bed,  and 
he  will  never  allow  any  one  to  touch  either  the  linen  or  the 
pillows. 

But  time  has  already  touched  them. 

They  smell  of  decay. 

Everything  here  smells  of  decay.  [He  sniffs. 

Really,  when  you  stop  to  reflect  that  in  this  fireplace  he 
used  to  burn  whole  logs  so  wastefully 

Do  you  remember  his  ball?  Our  dear  kinsman  scattered 
his  money  so  freely. 

Our  money. 

But  do  you  remember  how  he  petted  his  wife,  that  insig- 
nificant creature ! 

You  had  better  add,  "who  deceived  him." 

Sh! 

Who  had  a  dozen  paramours. 

Sh!    Sh! 


146  THE  LIFE   OF  MAN  act  v 

Who  lived  with  a  lackey,  yes,  with  her  own  lackey.     I  my- 
self once  saw  them  making  eyes  at  each  other. 
However,  she  is  dead.     Don't  slander  the  dead. 
But  it  is  so.     I  heard  about  it,  too. 
Poor  deceived  fool! 

Do  you  see  any  adornments  in  his  honoured  grey  hair? 
Sh!    Sh! 

With  exclamations  of  "Silence !"  '* Silence !"  they  inter- 
change glances  and  laugh  slyly. 
Man  has  no  right  to  think  only  of  himself.     Considering 

how  much  he  might  have  left  and  how  little  remains 

A  mere  pittance. 

We  must  thank  Providence  even  for  what  is  left.     Our 
honoured  kinsman  is  so  careless. 

Just  look  at  his  gown.     Isn't  it  shameful  to  treat  an  ex- 
pensive garment  so  ? 

Is  it  really  so  expensive.^     I  cannot  see  from  here  what 
kind  of  cloth  it  is. 

Approach  him  cautiously  and  feel  of  it.     It  is  silk. 

One  of  the  women  goes  up  to  dying  Man  and,  pretending 
that  she  is  straightening  his  pillow ,  feels  of  the  cloth. 
All  watch  her  with  curiosity. 
Silk! 

By  various  gestures,  the  Heirs  express  their  disgust. 
Man  for  an  instant  rouses  a  little  and  feebly  calls : 
"Water!" 
What  does  he  say  ?     Did  he  hear  us  ?     What  does  he  want.^* 
Man.  Water !     In  God's  name,  water ! 

He  ceases  speaking.     Several  of  the  Heirs,  frightened, 
look  here  and  there  for  water  hut  do  not  find  any. 
Voices  in  a  tone  of  irritation  and  alarm  : 
Water ! 
He  is  asking  for  water. 


ACTv  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN  147 

Yes,  give  him  some  water. 
There  isn't  any  water. 

They  all  turn  toward  the  sleeping  Sister  of  Mercy  and 
cry  out,  putting  their  hands  to  their  mouths  in  the 
fashion  of  a  megaphone: 
Sister  of  Mercy ! 
Sister  of  Mercy ! 
Sister  of  Mercy ! 

We  are  speaking  to  you,  Sister  of  Mercy !    The  sick  man 
wants  some  water. 

Shake  her.     What  do  they  pay  her  for,  if  she  sits  there  all 
the  time  asleep? 

If  you  want  a  Sister  of  Mercy  that  won't  sleep,  you  must 
pay  more.     Can't  you  understand  ? 

She  is  very  tired.     The  poor  woman  is  overworked. 
Let  her  sleep.     It  is  a  pity  to  disturb  her  when  she  is  sleep- 
ing so  soundly.     Dear  kinsman,  can't  you  wait  a  bit?    The 
Sister  is  very  tired  and  is  sleeping. 

'"^       Man  does  not  answer y  and  they  all  sit  down  again  on  their 
chairs  in  a  semicircle.     The  feeble  light  which  illumi- 
nates the  room  slowly  grows  dimmer  and  darkness 
rises  in  the  corners.     The  darkness  comes  on  heavily 
from  somewhere  above,  down  the  staircase.    It  spreads 
over  the  ceiling  and  clings  sullenly  to  every  hollow  in 
the  walls. 
He  is  quiet  again.     Poor  man  ! 
How  dark  it  is  !    Do  you  not  see  how  dark  it  is  ? 
When  I  stop  to  think  that  he  may  sit  thus  before  the  fire- 
place for  a  long  time  yet — weeks,  perhaps  months — then  I. 
feel  like  seizing  him  by  his  thin  neck  and  strangling  him.      I 
Begging  your  pardon,  sir,  although  you  appear  to  be  very 
solicitous  about  the  inheritance,  I  must  remark  that  I  don't 
know  who  you  are. 


V 


148  THE   LIFE   OF   MAN  act  v 

Neither  do  I.    Neither  do  I. 

You  are  simply  a  nobody — a  man  from  the  street !     What 
right  have  you  to  the  inheritance  ? 

I  am  just  as  much  an  heir  as  you  are. 

No,  sir,  you  are  a  scoundrel. 

No,  it  is  you  who  are  a  scoundrel. 

Sh!    Sh! 

Drive  him  out !    Away  with  him ! 

You  are  all  scoundrels. 

Sh !    You  will  wake  him  up. 

Savagely  showing  their  teeth,  they  threaten  each  other 
with  clinched  fists. 

Gentlemen,  the  light  is  going  out.    I  can  scarcely  see  your 
faces. 

We  must  be  going.     Another  day  is  wasted. 

We  must  be  going. 

Well,  I  will  remain.     I  am  not  going  to  leave.     This  is 
my  house;  mine,  mine,  mine ! 

The  rats  will  eat  you  here. 

[In  a  fury]  This  is  my  house;  mine,  mine,  mine! 

One  seventh  part,  Mr.  Heir-from-the-Street — at  best  one 
seventh  part. 

It  is  my  house;  mine ! 

Gentlemen,  it  is  getting  dark. 

Good  night,  dear  kinsman. 

Good  night,  dear  kinsman. 

Good  night,  dear  kinsman. 

One  after  another  they  go  out,  bowing  low  to  Man.  Some 
of  them  raise  the  limp  hand  of  dying  Man  as  it  lies 
on  the  arm  of  the  chair  and  gently  -press  it.  The  Heir- 
feom-the-Street  is  left  alone.  With  a  contemptuous 
glance  at  silent  Man  and  the  Sister  of  Merct,  he 


ACTv  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN  149 

swiftly  and  vyith  an  angry  expression  examines  the 
room.  He  touches  the  walls,  feels  of  the  upholstering 
on  the  chairs,  and  estimates  with  his  eye  that  which  he 
cannot  reach  with  his  hand.  He  goes  to  the  bed  on 
which  the  Wife  of  Man  died  and  tests  the  firmness  of 
the  linen,  but  when  the  rotten  cloth  tears  in  his  fingers, 
the  Heir,  furiously  stamping  his  foot,  scatters  the 
pillows  and  the  sheets.  Then  he  walks  resolutely  up 
to  the  dying  Man  and  takes  a  position  behind  his  back. 

Speech  of  the  Heir 

Listen,  old  Man.  You  ought  to  die.  Why  insult  death 
by  hanging  back?  Be  ofiF.  Free  living  things  from  your 
dead  hand.  It  lies  on  everything  with  leaden  weight.  Look ! 
All  things  are  waiting  eagerly  for  your  death:  these  falling 
walls,  this  spider-web  and  the  spider  imprisoned  in  its  circles, 
this  dark  fireplace — it  used  to  breathe  upon  you  with  its 
warmth,  but  now  it  is  summoning  your  worn-out  body  to  the 
chill  of  the  grave.  Begone !  Where  you  are  going  you  will 
meet  those  who  loved  you,  both  in  youth  and  in  old  age,  and 
those  who  were  beloved  by  you. 
Silence. 

Don't  you  believe  it? 

[He  turns  to  the  comer  where  the  Being  in  Grey  stands. 

Ho,  you !    Tell  him  that  his  loved  ones  will  meet  him  there, 
his  son  with  the  crushed  head  and  his  wife  who  died  of  sick- 
ness and  grief. 
Silence. 

You,  too,  are  silent?  And  all  is  silent?  So  be  it.  But 
whatever  may  await  you,  begone  from  here.  I,  the  living, 
drive  you  forth  from  life,  and  when  you  die  I  will  bless  you. 
I  will  lay  wreaths  upon  your  coffin,  and  on  the  spot  where 


150  THE   LIFE   OF   MAN  act  v 

your  body  will  decay  I  will  erect  a  monument — if  it  is  not 

too  expensive.     Begone ! 

Silence.  The  Heir  again  walks  up  and  down  the  room, 
but  the  melancholy  of  the  place,  the  continually  in- 
creasing darkness,  and  the  heavy  silence  frighten  him. 
He  moves  anxiously  about,  as  if  he  had  forgotten  where 
the  exit  is,  and  speaks  in  a  hoarse  voice. 
Sister  of  Mercy,  wake  up  !     Sister !     Where  is  the  door — 

where  is  the  door  ?     Sister  of  Mercy  ! 

Silence.  In  various  places  almost  simultaneously  the 
Old  Women  appear,  and  there  follows  a  nimble, 
silent  game  very  entertaining  to  the  Old  Women. 
They  block  the  exit  of  the  Heir;  they  circle  about  the 
room  and,  thus  noiselessly  thrusting  him  hither  and 
thither,  finally  let  him  pass  through  to  the  door.  Rais- 
ing his  hands  above  his  head  with  an  expression  of 
horror,  the  Heir  runs  out.  Subdued  laughter  on  the 
part  of  the  Old  Women. 

Conversation  of  the  Old  Women 

Good  evening. 

Good  evening.     What  a  glorious  night! 

Well,  we  are  together  again.     How  are  you  ? 

I  have  a  cough. 

Subdued  laughter. 

It  won't  be  long  now.     He'll  soon  die. 

Look  at  the  candle.  The  flame  is  blue  and  narrow  and 
drooping  toward  the  sides.  The  wax  is  already  consumed — 
only  the  wick  is  left,  and  that  will  soon  burn  out. 

It  does  not  want  to  go  out. 

Did  you  ever  see  a  flame  that  wanted  to  go  out.'* 

Stop  quarrelling  !  Stop  quarrelling  !  Whether  the  flame 
wants  to  go  out  or  not,  time  is  passing. 


p- 


ACTv  THE  LIFE  OF   MAN  151 


Time  is  passing. 
Time  is  passing. 
/  Do  you  recall  his  birth  ?    Allow  me  to  congratulate  you, 
my  dear  kinsman,  on  the  birth  of  your  son. 
-Do  you  remember  the  rose-coloured  dress  and  the  naked 
throat  ? 

.'  And  the  flowers — the  lilies-of-the- valley,  on  which  the 
dew  had  not  yet  dried,  and  the  violets,  and  the  green 
grass? 

/  Don't  touch  them,  girls.     Don't  touch  the  flowers ! 
They  laugh. 
Time  is  passing. 
Time  is  passing. 

Laughter.    One  of  the  Old  Women  puts  the  bed  in  order. 
What  are  you  doing  ? 

I  am  making  the  bed  on  which  his  wife  died. 
What's  the  use  of  that  ?     He'll  soon  be  dead. 
Don't  bother  me.     I  am  making  the  bed  on  which  his  wife 
died. 

How  kind  you  are ! 

Now  all  is  right.     Now  he  can  go. 

When  He  permits  him. 

Now  all  is  right;  now  all  is  right. 

Like  a  deep  sigh  there  sweeps  through  the  room  a  harmoni- 
ous but  very  sad  and  strange  sound.  Originating  some- 
where above,  it  tremulously  dies  out  in  the  dark  corners. 
It  is  as  though  many  harp-strings  were  snapping  one 
after  another. 
Sh !  Do  you  hear  it  ? 
What's  that? 

It's  up  above  where  the  ball  was.     That's  the  music. 
No,  it's  the  wind.     I  was  there;  I  saw  it,  and  I  know  it  i9 


152  THE   LIFE   OF   MAN  act  v 

the  wind.     The  window-glass  is  broken  and  the  wind  is  play- 
ing a  chord  over  the  sharp  points  of  the  glass. 
,^  It  is  like  music. 

How  cheerful  it  is  up  there !     The  guests  are  squatting  in 
the  darkness  by  the  tattered  walls.     Oh,  if  you  only  knew 
how  they  look ! 
We  know. 

And   with    grinning   teeth    they   bark    abruptly:     **How 
costly ! "     "How  gorgeous  ! *^' 
Surely  you  are  joking  ! 

Of  course  I  am  joking.     You  know  how  jolly  I  am. 
How  costly !     How  gorgeous ! 
How  brilliant ! 

Subdued  laughter. 
Remind  him. 

They  surround  Man,  pressing  close  to  him  with  gentte, 
caressing   movements.     They  fondle  him  with  their 
bony  hands.     They  peer  into  his  face  and  whisper 
slyly,  probing  the  inmost  recesses  of  his  old  heart. 
Do  you  remember  ? 
How  costly !     How  gorgeous ! 
Do  you  remember  the  music  at  your  ball  ? 
He  will  soon  die. 

The  dancers  circled  about  and  the  music  played  so  ten- 
derly, so  beautifully.     This  is  the  way  it  went. 

With  low  voices  they  hum  the  air  of  the  music  which  was 
played  at  the  ball. 
Do  you  remember.'^ 

Let's  have  a  ball.  It  is  so  long  since  I  have  danced. 
Just  imagine  that  this  is  a  palace,  a  miraculously  beautiful 
palace ! 

Do  you  remember  ?    Hark,  the  singing  violins  pour  forth 


ACTv  THE  LIFE   OF  MAN  153 

their   notes!     Hear   how   tenderly   the  flute  sings!     Hear 

how 

Strains  of  music,  suddenly  interrupting  the  speech  of  the 
Old  Woman,  begin  to  play  in  the  room  above,  where 
the  ball  ivas  held.     The  sounds  are  loud  and  distinct. 
The  Old  Women  listen  attentively, 
Sh !    Do  you  hear  ?       ~~* 
They  are  playing. 
The  musicians  are  playing. 

One  of  them  cries  out  in  a  loud  voice:  "Ho,  musicians ! 

Hither!" 
The  others  echo  her:   "Ho,  musicians!     Hither!    Ho, 

musicians!     Hither!" 
The  mu^ic  above  ceases,  and  almost  at  the  same  moment 
the  three  musicians  who  played  at  the  ball,  issuing 
from  the  darkness,  descend  the  warped  staircase.     They 
come  out  to  the  centre  of  the  stage  and  stand  in  a  row, 
as  they  stood  before.     The  one  with  the  violin  carefully 
spreads  a  handkerchief  over  his  shoulder,  and  all  three 
begin  to  play  with  extreme  painstaking.     The  sounds, 
however,  are  tender,  low,  and  sad,  as  in  a  dream. 
]'  Now  we  have  a  ball !    How  costly !    How  gorgeous ! 
How  brilliant ! 
Do  you  remember  ? 

Humming  softly  in  time  to  the  mu^ic,  they  begin  to  circle 
about  Man,  posturing  and  repeating  with  wild  dis- 
tortions the  movements  of  the  girls  in  white  robes  who 
danced  at  the  ball.  During  the  first  musical  phrase 
they  circle  about;  during  the  second  they  approach 
each  other  and  then  draw  apart  gracefully  and  silently. 
They  speak  in  loud  whispers: 
Do  you  remember  ? 
You  will  soon  die,  but  do  you  remember  ? 


154  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN  actv 

Do  you  remember  ? 
Do  you  remember  ? 

You  will  soon  die,  but  do  you  remember  ? 
,  Do  you  remember  ? 

The  dance  hecomes  swifter  and  the  movements  more  jerky. 
Through  the  voices  of  the  Old  Women  who  are  singing 
there  glides  a  strange,  whimpering  note;  and  the  same 
strange  laughter,  as  yet  subdued,  runs  through  the 
dancers  like  a  low  rustling.     As  they  sweep  past  Man 
they  discharge,  as  it  were,  into  his  ears  abrupt  whispers : 
Do  you  remember? 
Do  you  remember? 
How  tender !     How  fine ! 
How  restful  to  the  soul4— 
^  vDo  you  remember  ? 

You  will  soon  die!    You  will  soon  die!    You  will  soon 

die 

Do  you  remember  ? 

The  whirling  dance  becomes  swifter  and  the  movements 
still  more  jerky.     Suddenly  all  is  silent  and  motion- 
less.    The  musicians  are  petrified  with  their  instru- 
ments in  their  hands ;  the  dancing  women  stand  tro- 
tionless  in  the  attitudes  in  which  the  oncoming  of  silence 
found  them. 
Man  rises.     With  staggering,  unsteady  steps  he  walks 
toward  the  bed.     One  of  the  Old  Women  bars  his  way 
and  whispers  in  his  face  : 
Don't  lie  on  the  bed;  you  will  die  there ! 
You  will  die  there ! 
Beware  of  the  bed ! 

Man  pauses,  helpless,  and  sadly  begs:  "Help  me, 
somebody !  I  cannot  reach  the  bed."  Suddenly 
the  scales  fall  from  his  eyes.    He  sees  the  malicious 


ACTv  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN  155 

Old  Women  watching  and  mischievously  sporting 
with  death.  He  sees  the  ruin  and  darkness  and  de- 
struction that  pervade  everything  about  him.  He  sees 
as  if  for  the  first  time  the  stony  face  of  the  Being  in 
Grey  and  the  candle  slowly  burning  out.  He  raises 
his  hand  and  the  Old  Women  give  way  before  him. 
He  throws  back  threateningly  his  grey-haired,  beautiful 
heady  stands  erect,  and,  preparing  for  his  last  battle,  he 
cries  out  in  a  challenging  voice,  unexpectedly  loud  and 
full  of  grief  and  anger.  In  the  first  brief  expression 
one  can  still  hear  the  feebleness  of  age,  but  with  each 
succeeding  utterance  the  voice  becomes  more  youthful 
and  stronger,  and  the  candle,  reflecting  for  a  moment 
the  life  that  has  returned,  flames  up  high,  red  and 
quuvering,  illuminating  all  about  it  with  the  sombre 
glow  of  a  conflagration. 
Man.  Where  is  my  armour-bearer  ?     Where  is  my  sword  ? 

Where  is  my  shield?     I  am  weaponless!     Come  quickly, 

quickly !     Be  accursed ! 

He  falls  at  the  foot  of  the  bed  and  dies.  At  the  same  in- 
stant tJie  flame  of  the  candle  with  one  Ixist  feeble  flare 
goes  out,  and  deep  gloom  envelops  all  objects.  It  is  as 
if  the  walls  and  the  windows  that  had  formerly  held 
back  the  darkness  had  finally  given  way  and  the  dark- 
ness had  flooded  everything  with  a  dense,  black,  tri- 
umphant wave.  Only  the  face  of  Man  is  iUumined. 
Low,  indistinct  conversation  of  the  Old  Women  is 
heard,  together  with  whispering  and  interchanging  of 
laughter. 
Being  in  Grey.  Silence !    Man  is  dead. 

Profound  silence.  The  same  cold,  indifferent  voice  re- 
peats the  words  from  the  far  distance  like  an  echo: 
"Silence!    Man  is  dead."    Prof ound silence.    Slowly 


156  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN  actv 

the  gloom  becomes  denser,  though  the  miceMke  figures  of 
the  Old  Women  watchers  can  still  be  seen.  Quietly 
and  silently  they  begin  to  circle  about  the  corpse. 
Then  they  begin  to  hum  in  a  low  tone,  and  the  musi- 
cians start  playing.  The  gloom  becomes  still  more 
dense,  the  mv^ic  and  singing  louder  and  louder,  and 
the  wild  dance  more  unrestrained.  They  are  no  longer 
dancing  but  wildly  whirling  about  the  corpse  with 
stamping  and  shrieking  and  wild,  uninterrupted  laugh- 
ter. Complete  darkness  ensues.  The  face  of  the  dead 
is  still  illumined,  but  presently  that  also  vanishes. 
Black,  impenetrable  darkness. 
In  the  darkness  one  can  hear  the  movements  of  the  wild 
dancers,  the  shrieking  and  laughter,  and  the  discordant 
and  desperately  loud  sounds  of  the  orchestra.  On  at- 
taining their  highest  pitch,  all  these  sounds  swiftly  re- 
cede somewhere  and  die  away.    Silence. 

Curtain, 


THE    SABINE    WOMEN 

A   BIT   OF    ROMAN    HISTORY 
In  Three  Acts 


THE    SABINE    WOMEN 
ACT  I 

A  toUdj  rugged  spot,  at  daybreak.  As  the  sun  rises,  armed 
Romans  enter  from  the  hills,  dragging  with  them  the  beau- 
tiful but  dishevelled  Sabine  Women.  The  latter  resist, 
scream,  and  scratch — all  but  one,  who,  perfectly  quiet,  seems 
to  have  fallen  asleep  in  the  arms  of  the  Roman  who  carries 
her.  The  captors,  groaning  with  the  pain  of  their  scratches, 
quickly  drop  the  Women  in  a  heap  and,  hastily  retreating, 
rearrange  their  clothing.  They  pant  as  if  exhausted.  The 
screaming  subsides.  The  Women,  watching  suspiciously 
the  movements  of  the  men,  also  set  themselves  to  rights. 
They  whisper  and  chatter  in  low  tones. 

FmsT  Roman.  By  Hercules !  I'm  as  wet  as  a  muskrat. 
I'll  wager  my  woman  weighed  four  hundred  pounds  at  least. 
-  Second  Roman.  You  needn't  have  picked  the  biggest  of 
the  lot.     For  my  part,  I  chose  a  thin  little  thing,  and 

First  Roman.  What's  happened  to  your  face  ?  You  don't 
mean  to  say  that  thin  little  thing 

Second  Roman.  Wow  !    She  scratches  like  a  cat. 

First  Roman.  They  all  scratch  like  cats.  I  have  been  in 
a  hundred  battles.  I  have  been  hacked  with  swords,  beaten 
with  clubs,  bruised  with  stones.  Gates  and  walls  have  fallen 
on  me,  but  this  is  the  worst  yet.  My  Roman  nose  is  a 
wreck. 

Third  Roman.  If  I  hadn't  been  clean  shaved  in  the  ancient 
159 


160  THE  SABINE  WOMEN  acti 

Roman  fashion,  there  wouldn't  be  a  hair  left  on  my  face. 
You  know  what  nice,  slender  fingers  and  what  amazingly 
sharp  nails  they  have.  Well,  talk  about  cats !  Cats  is  no 
name  for  them.  Mine  never  said  a  word,  but  all  the  way  she 
just  plucked  out  the  down. 

A  Tall,  Fat  Roman.  [Speaks  in  a  bass  voice]  Mine  got 
her  hands  under  my  breastplate  and  tickled  me  in  the  arm- 
pits so  that  I  laughed  the  whole  way. 

A  loWy  contemptuous  laugh  from  the  Women. 
First  Roman.  Sh !    They  can  hear  us. 
Second  Roman.  Come,  gentlemen ;  stop  your  whining  and 
spruce  up.     It  would  be  a  pity  for  the  ladies  to  lose  their 
respect  for  us  on  this  very  first  day.     Just  look  at  Emilius 
Paulus.     There's  a  man  who  keeps  up  his  dignity. 
Third  Roman.  Radiant  as  Aurora ! 

Fourth  Roman.  By  Hercules!  Not  a  scratch  on  him. 
How  did  you  manage  it,  Paulus  } 

Paulus.  [With  feigned  modesty]  Oh,  I  don't  know.     She 

.^clung  to  me  from  the  start  as  if  I  were  her  husband.     You 

/  astonish    me,    gentlemen.     Why,    it    was    simplicity    itself. 

/When  I  took  her  up  she  spontaneously  threw  her  arms  about 

\  my  neck.     The  only  danger  was  that  she  would  hug  me  to 

death.     Her  arms  may  be  slender,  but  they  are  strong. 

First  Roman.  There's  luck  for  you. 

Paulus.  Simplicity  itself,  I  tell  you.     Her  innocent,  con- 
/  fiding  little  heart  told  her  that  I  loved  her  truly  and  re- 
l^  spected  her.     Half  the  way  she  slept  like  a  weary  child, 
;  though  you,  of  course,  won't  believe  that. 

The  Fat  Roman.  Pardon  me,  gentlemen,*  but  how  are  we 
going  to  tell  which  is  which.''     Having  stolen  them  in  the 

dark  like  chickens  from  a  hen-coop 

From  the  group  of  Women  comes  the  indignant  excla- 
mation:  "What  a  disgusting  comparison!" 


ACT  I  THE  SABINE  WOMEN  161 

First  Roman.  Sh !    They  can  hear  us. 

The  Fat  Roman.  [Lowering  his  voice  an  octave]  Well,  how 
are  we  to  pick  them  out  ?  Mine  was  a  very  jolly  sort,  and  I 
shan't  give  her  up  to  anybody.  And,  anyway,  I'm  not  going 
to  let  people  tread  on  my  toes. 

Second  Roman.  Chucklehead! 

Third  Roman.  I  shall  know  mine  by  her  voice.  I  shan't 
forget  her  screaming,  come  Christmas. 

Fourth  Roman.  I  shall  know  mine  by  her  nails. 

SciPio.  And  I  shall  know  mine  by  the  wonderful  fragrance 
of  her  hair. 

Paulus.  And  I  mine  by  the  modesty  and  beauty  of  her 
soul.  O  Romans!  We  stand  on  the  threshold  of  a  new  life. 
Tedious  solitude,  farewell !  Farewell,  interminable  nights, 
with  your  accursed  nightingales!  Let  the  nightingale  sing 
now,  or  any  other  bird — I'm  ready. 

The  Fat  Roman.  Yes,  it  is  time  that  we  entered  on  the 
domestic  stage  of  life. 

Ironical  exclamations  from  the  Women:    "Oh,   yes! 
Why  don't  you  try  it  ?    Come  on !  '* 

First  Roman.  Sh !    They  can  hear  us. 

Second  Roman.  It's  high  time — high  time,  I  say. 

Third  Roman.  Gentlemen,  who  goes  first  ? 

Silence.     All  stand  motionless.     Low,  mocking  laughter 
on  the  part  of  the  Women. 

The  Fat  Roman.  For  my  part,  I*ve  had  all  the  tickling  I 
want.  Let  some  one  else  try  it.  And,  anyway,  I'm  not  go- 
ing to  let  any  one  tread  on  my  toes.     Here,  Paulus,  you  go. 

Paulus.  Brute!  Don't  you  see  that  my  darling  is  still 
asleep?  Look — that  dark  clump  there  under  the  stones — 
that's  she.     O  innocent  soul ! 

SciPio.  Gentlemen,  it  is  apparent  from  your  attitude  of 
indecision  and  from  your  confusion — a  wholly  justified  con- 


162  THE   SABINE   WOMEN  acti 

fusion,  I  may  say — that  no   one  of  you  has  the  courage 
to   approach  these  merciless  creatures.     Now,  here  is  my 

plan 

The  Fat  Roman.  Wise  head ! 

SciPio.  Here,  I  say,  is  my  plan.     Let  us  advance  in  a  body, 
and   quite   leisurely,   each   one   hiding   himself  behind   the 

others.     Certainly,  if  we  were  not  afraid  of  their  husbands 

The  Fat  Roman.  Their  husbands  !    Bosh ! 

Deep  sighs  from  the  Women  and  demonstrative  weeping. 
First  Roman.  Sh !     They  can  hear  us. 
SciPio.  There  you  go   again,   Mark  Antony,   with  that 
mouth  of  yours.     We  must  avoid  this  unlucky  word  hus- 
band.    You  see  how  it  works  on  the  feelings  of  these  poor 
women.     Well,  gentlemen,  do  you  agree  to  my  plan.? 
The  Romans.  Agreed  !     Agreed ! 

SciPio.  Well,  then,  gentlemen 

The  Romans  prepare  for  the  attack,  the  Women  'prepare 
to  defend  themselves.     In  the  place  of  lovely  faces  are 
seen  sharp  finger-nails,  ready  to  bury  themselves  in 
face  and  hair.     A  loWy  hissing  is  heard,  as  of  snakes. 
The  Romans  advance  in  accordance  with  their  plan; 
that  is,  each  one  hides  himself  behind  some  one  else, 
with  the  result  that  they  all  fall  back  and  take  shelter 
in  the  wings.     The  Women  laugh.     The  Romans  re- 
turn to  their  places  in  confusion. 
First  Roman.  It  looks  as  if  there  were  some  flaw  in  your 
plan,  Scipio.     As  Socrates  would  say,  we  advanced  backward. 
The  Fat  Roman.  I  can't  make  head  or  tail  of  it. 
Paulus.  Courage,  gentlemen.     What  is  a  scratch  or  two.? 
Once  we  have  reached  the  goal,  oh,  what  bliss !    Forward, 
Romans  !    To  the  attack ! 

The  Romans,  with  the  exception  of  Paulus,  who  gazes 
dreamily  at  the  heavens,  rush  upon  the  Women  in  q 


ACT  I  THE  SABINE  WOMEN  163 

disorderly  crowd,  hut,  after  a  moment  of  silent  strug- 
gling, retreat  hastily.  Silence.  The  Romans  all  rub 
their  noses. 

SciPio.  [Speaking  through  his  nose]  Did  you  notice,  gentle- 
men, that  they  didn't  even  scream  ?  A  bad  omen !  I  pre- 
fer a  screamer. 

First  Roman.  What's  to  be  done  now? 

Second  Roman.  How  I  long  for  a  domestic  life! 

Third  Roman.  And  I  for  a  family  hearthstone.  What 
is  life  without  a  family  hearthstone?  Now  that  Rome's 
founded — hang  it  all — I'd  like  a  little  rest. 

The  Fat  Roman.  Unfortunately,  gentlemen,  not  a  single 
one  of  us  understands  the  psychology  of  the  other  sex. 
Busied  with  wars  and  the  founding  of  Rome,  we  have  be- 
come crude,  we  have  lost  our  polish,  we  have  forgotten  what 
a  woman  is 

Paulus.  [Modestly]  Not  all  of  us. 

SciPio.  However,  from  the  fact  that  these  women  once 
had  husbands — whom  we  routed  yesterday — I  draw  the  con- 
clusion that  there  exists  some  means,  some  mysterious 
method,  of  approaching  a  woman  whom  you  do  not  know. 
But  how  find  out  what  it  is  ? 

The  Fat  Roman.  Suppose  we  ask  the  women  themselves. 

First  Roman.  They  won't  tell. 

Spiteful  laughter  among  the  Women. 

Second  Roman.  Sh !     They  can  hear  us. 

SciPio.  Well,  now,  I've  thought  of  a  plan 

The  Fat  Roman.  Wise  head ! 

SciPio.  As  for  our  charming  captives,  it  strikes  me,  gentle- 
men, that  far  from  our  capturing  them,  they  have  captured 
us.  Busied  in  scratching  our  faces,  tearing  out  our  hair, 
and  tickling  us  in  the  armpits,  they  obviously  cannot  hear  us. 


164  THE  SABINE   WOMEN  acti 

Not  being  able  to  hear  us,  they  are  not  open  to  persuasion. 
Not  being  open  to  persuasion,  they  are  not  persuaded.  So 
there  you  are ! 

Repeating  "So  there  you  are!"  the  Romans /oi/  into  a 
state  of  gloomy  meditation.     The  Women  listen  atten- 


SciPio.  Well,  here  is  my  plan.  Let  us,  in  accordance 
with  military  custom,  select  an  envoy  from  our  number,  and 
ask  our  fair  opponents  to  do  the  same.  The  representatives 
of  the  warring  factions,  being  thus  in  complete  security  [he 
feels  of  his  nose]  under  the  protection  of  the  white  flag,  will 
be  able,  if  I  may  employ  a  Latin  expression,  to  reach  a  mxtdus 

vivendi,  and  then 

The  Romans  interrupt  this  brilliant  speech  with  loud 

hurrahs.     Scipio,  being  unanimously  elected  envoy, 

raises  the  white  flag  and  cautiously  approaches  the 

Women,  at  the  same  time  calling  over  his  shoulder: 

"Don't  get  too  far  away,  fellows." 

Scipio.  [In  an  ingratiating  tone]  Fair  ladies — please  stay 

where  you  are,  ladies,  you  see  I'm  under  the  protection  of  the 

white  flag,  and  the  white  flag,  I  assure  you,  is  sacred,  and  my 

person  is  inviolable — it  really  is —    Fair  ladies!    Although 

it  was  only  yesterday  that  we  had  the  pleasure  of  capturing 

you,  already  there  have  arisen  between  us  disagreements, 

feuds,  and  strange  misunderstandings. 

Cleopatra.  What  impudence!  Just  because  you  have 
tied  a  white  rag  to  a  stick  you  needn't  think  you  can  make 
these  insulting  speeches. 

Scipio.  [In  a  conciliatory  tone]  Mercy  me!  Insulting 
speeches?  Quite  the  contrary.  I  am  delighted — that  is  to 
say,  we  are  all  of  us  perfectly  miserable.  [With  the  courage  of 
despair]  I  swear  by  Hercules  we  are  dead  in  love  with  you. 
Madam,  since  you  seem  to  sympathise  with  us,  I  venture  to 


ACT  I  THE  SABINE  WOMEN  165 

ask  a  slight  favour.     Please  select  from  your  number,  as  we 
have  done,  an  envoy 

Cleopatra.  Oh,  we  know.  We  have  already  heard  of  it. 
You  needn't  repeat. 

SciPio.  Why,  we  hardly  spoke  above  a  whisper. 

Voices  of  the  Women.  Well,  we  heard,  just  the  same. 

Cleopatra.  You  go  back  with  that  rag  where  you  belong, 
and  wait.  We  are  going  to  talk  this  matter  over.  No — 
farther  off,  if  you  please.  No  eavesdropping.  Who  is  that 
suckling  yonder  with  his  mouth  wide  open.'*  [Pointing  at  the 
dreaming  Paulus]  Take  him  away,  please. 

The  Romans.  [Whispering  to  one  another]  Now  we're  get- 
ting on. 

They  withdraw  on  tiptoe,  some  showing  their  good  faith 
by  plugging  their  ears. 

First  Sabine  Woman.  How  impudent!  How  insulting! 
What  odious  tyranny  !     Oh,  our  poor  husbands  ! 

Second  Sabine  Woman.  I  swear  I'll  scratch  out  a  thou- 
sand eyes  before  I  will  be  disloyal  for  one  instant  to  my  un- 
happy husband.  Sleep  sweetly,  my  beloved.  In  the  keep- 
ing of  this  brave  heart  your  honour  is  safe. 

Third  Sabine  Woman.  I  also  swear. 

Fourth  Sabine  Woman.  And  I. 

Cleopatra.  Alas,  my  dear  companions,  we  can  all  of  us 
swear,  but  what's  the  use  ?  These  rude,  uncultured  men  are 
no  respecters  of  oaths.  Take  my  captor,  for  instance.  Al- 
though I  bit  his  nose 

First  Sabine  Woman.  Oh,  do  you  remember  yours  ? 

Cleopatra.  [Spitefully]  I  shall  remember  him  to  my  dying 
day.  He  smelled  of  breastplates  and  swords  and  all  the 
other  things  that  go  with  a  coarse  soldier.  And  he  was 
so  careless  about  squeezing  me.     Oh,  my  poor,  dear  husband ! 


166  THE   SABINE   WOMEN  acti 

First  Sabine  Woman.  Well,  they  all  have  that  soldiery- 
smell . 

Second  Sabine  Woman.  And  they  all  squeeze  like  bears. 
Probably  it  is  the  military  fashion. 

Third  Sabine  Woman.  When  I  was  a  little  girl  I  remem- 
ber a  soldier  boy  came  to  our  house  and  said  he  was  from  a 
far-oflF  country  where 

Cleopatra.  Ladies,  this  is  no  place  for  reminiscences. 

Third  Sabine  Woman.  But  this  soldier  boy  I  was  telling 
you  about 

Cleopatra.  My  dear  Juno,  what  in  Venus's  name  have 
we  to  do  with  your  soldier  when  every  one  of  us  has  on  her 
neck  a  soldier  of  her  own?  Now,  my  dears,  what  is  to  be 
done  ?     Here  is  my  proposition 

Veronica.  [Who  has  awakened,  approaches.  She  is  thin 
and  impressively  tall.  Languidly,  her  eyes  half  closed,  she  in- 
terrupts Cleopatra]  Where  are  they  ?  Why  are  they  so  far 
off  .^^  I  wish  they  would  come  nearer.  I  am  ashamed  when 
they  are  not  by  me.  All  this  time  I  have  been  in  a  trance, 
and  now  I  cannot  find  the  young  man  who  carried  me. 
He  smelt  like  a  soldier. 

Cleopatra.  There  he  stands,  with  his  mouth  wide  open. 

Veronica.  I  will  go  to  him.     I  am  consumed  with  shame. 

Cleopatra.  Hold  her  back !  Why,  Veronica,  can  it  be 
that  you  have  already  forgotten  your  poor,  dear  husband  ? 

Veronica.  I  swear  I  will  never  cease  to  love  him.  But 
why  do  we  not  go  to  our  captors — or  perhaps  you  are 
planning  something  else,  my  dears  .^^  For  my  part,  I  am 
ready  for  any  fate.  Let  them  come  to  us.  Men  are  in- 
sufferably familiar  as  soon  as  you  cease  being  angry  with 
them. 

Cleopatra.  Well,  my  dears,  my  first  suggestion  is  that  we 
take  an  oath  never  to  betray  our  dear,  unhappy  husbands. 


ACT  I  THE   SABINE  WOMEN  167 

However  our  captors  may  treat  us,  we  shall  remain  firm  as 
the  Tarpeian  rock.  When  I  think  how  lonely  my  husband  is, 
how  he  vainly  calls  me  to  his  empty  bed,  "Cleopatra,  where 
art  thou,  Cleopatra";  when  I  remember  how  he  loved  me — 
[The  Women  all  weep]  Come,  my  dears,  let  us  swear.  They 
are  waiting  for  us,  you  know. 

Sabine  Women.  We  swear.     We  swear.     Whatever  they    j 
may  do  to  us,  we  will  not  betray  our  husbands.  '^ 

Cleopatra.  There  !  My  mind  is  at  rest  so  far  as  the  hus- 
bands are  concerned.  Sleep,  beloved;  sleep  in  peace.  And 
now,  ladies,  the  next  thing  is  to  choose  an  envoy  as  the 
Romans  suggest,  and  let  her 

First  Sabine  Woman.  Scratch  his  eyes  out. 

Second  Sabine  Woman.  No,  let  her  give  the  rascal  a  piece 
of  her  mind.  They  think  we  can  do  nothing  but  scratch; 
let  them  hear  how  we  can  talk. 

Veronica.  [Shrugging  her  lean  shoulders]  What  is  the  use 
of  talking  when  they  have  us  in  their  power? 

Cleopatra.  ^tOirlrer'T'  Ah,  Veronica,  might  is  not  right, 
whatever  Roman  law  may  say.  Make  me  your  envoy,  and 
I  will  convince  our  captors  that  they  have  no  right  to  detain 
us,  that  they  are  in  duty  bound  to  let  us  go,  that  according 
to  divine  law,  or  human  law,  or  any  other  law,  as  they  say 
in  Rome,  they  have  acted  like  perfect  swine. 

Voices  of  Women.  Go,  Cleopatra;  do  go. 

First  Sabine  Woman.  Stop  Veronica. 

Cleopatra.  Hello,  there,  you  envoy  with  the  white  rag ! 
Come  here,  please.     I  want  to  talk  with  you. 

SciPio.  Shall  I  remove  my  sword  ? 

Cleopatra.  Nevermind.  Why  should  you?  You  needn't 
think  we  are  afraid  of  your  swords.  Come,  now,  don't  be 
frightened.  I  shan't  bite.  You  weren't  limid  yesterday 
night  when  you  broke  into  our  peaceful  home  and  rudely 


168  THE  SABINE   WOMEN  acti 

tore  me  from  the  arms  of  my  poor  husband.     Well,  come 
on,  if  you  are  coming. 

SciPio  approaches  cautiously.  The  Romans  and  the 
Sabine  Women  arrange  themselves  at  right  and  left 
of  the  stage  in  two  symmetrical  groups  and  follow  the 
parley  attentively. 

SciPio.  I  am  charmed,  madam 

Cleopatra.  Charmed,  indeed !     Let  me  tell  you  that  you 
are  a  scoundrel,  a  lunatic,  a  brigand,  a  thief.     Oh,  you  mur- 
derer, you  miscreant,  you  monster,  you  scum!     What  you 
have  done  is  blasphemous,  disgusting,  abominable,  unheard  of. 
SciPio.  Madam! 

Cleopatra.  You  sicken  me.  You  make  my  flesh  creep. 
I  can't  bear  the  sight  of  you.     You  smell  like  a  soldier.     If 

your  nose  were  not  covered  with  scratches,  I  would 

SciPio.  Pardon  me.     You  did  the  scratching. 
Cleopatra.  I.''     Then  you  are  the  man  who —  [Looks  at 
him  contemptuously]  Excuse  me.     I  didn't  recognise  you. 

SciPio.  [Joyfully]  But  I  recognised  you  instantly.  Your 
hair  smells  of  verbena;  doesn't  it,  now.'' 

Cleopatra.  None  of  your  business  what  it  smells  of. 
Verbena  perfume  is  as  good  as  any  other. 
SciPio.  Just  what  I  meant. 

Cleopatra.  I  don't  care  what  you  meant.  I've  said 
nothing  about  your  odours.  And,  anyway,  why  all  this  silly 
gabble  about  smells  .^^  I  beg  you,  my  dear  sir,  as  a  man  of 
honour,  to  come  to  the  point.     What  do  you  want  of  us  ? 

SciPio  modestly  lowers  his  eyes,  hut,  unable  to  hold  him- 
self in,  snickers  behind  his  hand.     All  the  Romans 
snicker  and  the  Women  bridle. 
Cleopatra.  [Blushing]  Snickering  is  no  answer.    You're 
just  horrid!     I  ask  you,  what  do  you  want  of  us?     I  suppose 
you  know  that  we  are  already  married. 


ACT  I  THE   SABINE   WOMEN  169 

SciPio.  How  shall  I  put  it,  madam?  We  are  ready  to  offer 
you  our  hands  and  hearts 

Cleopatra.  What !     You  really  mean  it  ?     Are  you  crazy  ? 

SciPio.  Look  at  us.  We  are  no  dandies  from  the  Nevski. 
Having  just  founded  Rome,  we  are  eager  to  eternalise  our — 
Put  yourself  in  our  place,  madam,  and  have  pity  on  us. 
Would  you  not  pity  your  husbands  if  they  woke  up  some 
fine  morning  and  found  their  wives  missing  ?  We  are  lonely, 
madam. 

The  Fat  Roman.  Oh,  so  lonely. 

Veronica.  [Wiping  her  eyes]  I'm  so  sorry  for  them. 

SciPio.  In  the  midst  of  war's  alarms,  busied  in  the  found- 
ing of  Rome,  we  have  let  slip,  so  to  speak,  the  moment  when — 
Madam,  we  pity  your  husbands  from  the  bottom  of  our  hearts. 

Cleopatra.  [With  dignity]  I  am  pleased  to  hear  you  say  so. 

SciPio.  But  why  the  devil  did  they  give  you  up.'* 

The  'Romans  joyfully  support  him  with:  "That's  right"; 
"You've  struck  it,  Scipio";  but  the  Women  shmn 
resentment  and  utter  such  exclamations  as:  "How 
mean  of  them  ! "  "  They're  insulting  our  husbands.'* 
"The  insinuating  wretches!" 

Cleopatra.  [Drily]  If  you  wish  to  go  on  with  this  parley, 
I  beg  of  you  to  refer  to  our  husbands  with  respect. 

Scipio.  With  the  greatest  pleasure.  But,  madam,  respect 
them  as  we  may,  we  cannot  but  admit  that  they  are  un- 
worthy of  you.  At  this  very  moment,  when  your  inhuman 
sufferings  are  pulling  at  our  heart-strings,  when  the  hot  tears 
evoked  by  your  bereavement  are  pouring  forth  like  mountain 
brooks  in  spring,  when  the  very  stones,  quivering  with  pity, 
moan  and  repine,  when  your  charming  noses,  drenched  with 
cruel  tears,  lose  their  wonted  form  and  begin  to  swell 

Cleopatra.  Nothing  of  the  kind. 

Scipio.  When  all  nature,  and  so  forth—     Well,  where  are 


170  THE  SABINE  WOMEN  acti 

your  husbands  now  ?  I  don't  see  them.  They  are  invisible. 
They  are  absent.  They  have  abandoned  you.  Shall  I  say, 
at  the  risk  of  offending,  they  have  basely  deserted  you  ? 

The  Romans  stand  in  a  haughty  pose,  with  arms  akimbo. 
Excitement  and  tears  on  the  part  of  the  Women.     The 
gentle  voice  of  Proserpina  is  heard,  saying :  "Really, 
why  are  they  not  here  ?     It's  high  time." 
Cleopatra.  All  very  fine,  and  your  pose  is  certainly  hand- 
some, but  suppose  people  should  take  it  into  their  heads 
to  come  by  night  and  steal  us? 

SciPio.  We  shall  be  on  the  alert  all  night  long. 
Cleopatra.  Or  in  the  daytime .^^ 

SciPio.  Oh,  you  wouldn't  think  of  going  in  the  daytime. 
The  languid  voice  of  Veronica:   "Why  are  they  so  far 
away.f^     I  am  ashamed  when  they  are  so  far  away. 
I  want  them  to  come  nearer." 
Whispers  among  the  Women:    "Make  her  keep  still." 
Cleopatra.  Well,    of    all    the   impudence !     Still,   I    am 
sorry  for  you,  and  I  really  must  confess  to  some  respect  and 
consideration  for  your  sufferings,  though  your  youth  has  led 
you  astray.     However,  I  shall  now  advance  an  argument 
that  will  at  one  blow  shatter  your  air-castles  and,  I  hope,  put 
you  to  blush.     How  about  the  children,  sir? 
SciPio.  Wh — what  children  ? 
Cleopatra.  The  children  we  have  left  at  home. 
SciPio.  That,  madam,  is,  I  confess,  a  serious  question. 
Permit  me  to   withdraw  for  a  moment  in  order  to  confer 
with  my  companions. 

Cleopatra  goes  to  the  Women,  Scipio  to  the  men. 
They  confer  in  whispers. 
Scipio.  Madam. 
Cleopatra.  What  is  it? 
Scipio.  After  protracted   consideration,   my  companions, 


ACTi  THE  SABINE  WOMEN  171 

the  Ancient  Romans,  have  instructed  me  to  communicate  to 
you  that  you  will  have  new  children. 

Cleopatra.  [Staggered]  Oh,  do  you  think  so? 

SciPio.  We  swear  it.     Gentlemen,  swear ! 

The  Romans  swear  in  a  discordant  chorus. 

Cleopatra.  But  the  surroundings  are  very  unattractive. 

SciPio.  [Offended]  The  surroundings? 

Cleopatra.  Yes.  This  is  a  horrid  place — all  mountains 
and  ravines — simply  impossible!  What's  this  stone  doing 
here?    Take  it  away,  please. 

SciPio.  Oh,  madam !  [Carries  the  stone  avmy. 

Cleopatra.  And  such  trees!  I'm  fairly  stifled  here. 
What  is  this  stupid  tree?  But  you  are  embarrassed,  aren't 
you?  Permit  me  to  withdraw.  I  suppose  I  must  give  you 
an  answer. 

SciPio.  An  answer?     What  to? 

Cleopatra.  Why,  I  thought  you  asked  me  a  question. 

SciPio.  I?  Pardon  me,  madam,  I  must  be  getting  stupid. 
What  did  I  ask  you  a  question  about  ? 

Cleopatra.  Do  you  mean  to  insult  me  ? 

SciPio.  I? 

Cleopatra.  Yes,  you.    You  said  you  were  getting  stupid. 

SciPio.  I? 

Cleopatra.  Certainly,  /  didn't  say  so.  You  are  forgetting 
yourself,  sir. 

SciPio.  I? 

Cleopatra.  Well,  anyway,  I  am  going.  And  you,  sir, 
had  better  spruce  up  a  little  if  we  are  to  continue  to  talk 
to  one  another.  You  are  a  sight.  Haven't  you  a  handker- 
chief ?  Wipe  your  face.  It  is  as  sweaty  as  if  you  had  been 
carrying  stones  all  day  long.       [She  makes  as  if  to  withdraw. 

SciPio.  Madam — allow  me — I  believe  I  did  carry  a  stone 
or  two,  but  the  fact  is  you  made  me  do  it. 


172  THE  SABINE  WOMEN  acti 

Cleopatra.  I  ?     Why,  I  never  thought  of  such  a  thing. 

SciPio.  Begging  your  pardon,  madam,  what  are  we  talk- 
ing about  ? 

Cleopatra.  How  should  I  know  ?  That's  your  afiPair,  not 
line. 

SciPio.  Evidently  you're  making  fun  of  me. 

Cleopatra.  Oh,  you've  noticed  it  ? 

SciPio.  I  won't  allow  myself  to  be  ridiculed. 

Cleopatra.  How  can  you  prevent  it .'' 

SciPio.  I'm  still  a  bachelor,  thank  God! 

Cleopatra.  Aha !  At  last,  "thank  God!"  Well  said,  my 
dear  sir.  A  nice  box  we  should  have  been  in  if  we  had  trusted 
to  your  oaths.  [To  her  co^npanions]  Do  you  hear  .'^  They  are 
already  thankful  that  we  are  not  their  wives. 

SciPio.  Heavens!  This  is  unendurable.  Either  you  stop 
making  fun  of  me 

Cleopatra.  Or  else 


SciPio.  Or  else  go  home.  Yes,  madam,  go  home.  This  is 
the  limit.  By  Hercules,  we  didn't  found  Rome  just  for  the 
sake  of  sticking  fast,  like  flies  in  marmalade,  in  your  absurd 
deliberations ! 

Cleopatra.  Absurd  .^^ 

SciPio.  Yes,  idiotic. 

Cleopatra.  [Weepirig]  You  insult  me. 

SciPio.  Good  Lord  !  She's  crying.  Madam,  what  dc  you 
want  ?  Why  did  you  pick  on  me  ?  Ancient  Roman  though 
I  am,  this  woman  will  positively  drive  me  crazy.  Stop  your 
crying!  I  can't  make  head  or  tail  of  this  thing.  I  don't 
even  know  what  you  are  blubbering  about. 

Cleopatra.  [Weeping]  Will  you  let  us  go.'* 

SciPio.  Certainly,  certainly.  Friends,  Romans,  do  you 
agree  ?     I'm  at  the  end  of  my  rope. 


ACti  THE  SABINE  WOMEN  178 

Fat  Roman.  Yes,  let  them  go.     We'll  fetch  some  wives 
from  Etruria. 
SciPio.  All  right.     These  creatures  are  not  women.    They 

Cleopatra.  [Weeping]  On  your  word  of  honour? 
SciPio.  What  am  I  to  do  on  my  word  of  honour  ? 
Cleopatra.  You  will  let  us  go  ?     Perhaps  your  promise  is 
just  a  trick,  and  as  soon  as  we  start  to  go  you  will  lay  hold 
of  us. 

SciPio.  No,  no.     Run  along.     Are  you  glued  to  the  spot  ? 
Cleopatra.  [Weeping]  Will  you  carry  us  back? 
SciPio.  Heavens  and  earth!     What  next? 
Cleopatra.     You  know  very  well  that  having  brought  us 
here  you  are  in  honour  bound  to  carry  us  back  again.     It's  a 
long  way. 

The  Women  laugh  maliciously.  Scipio,  panting  vrith 
anger y  casts  frenzied  glances  abouty  but,  after  trying 
in  vain  to  say  something,  stamps  his  foot  and  goes 
back  to  his  friends.  All  the  Romans  pointedly  turn 
their  backs  to  the  Women,  and  sit  in  that  position  dur- 
ing the  following  scene.  The  Women  confer  quietly, 
Cleopatra.  You  have  heard,  my  dears;  they  are  letting 
us  go. 

Veronica.  How  dreadful ! 

Second  Sabine  Woman.  You  might  better  say,  "driving 
us  away."  It's  simply  maddening!  Here  they  carry  off  per- 
fectly innocent  women — rouse  the  whole  house  in  the  middle 
of  the  night — turn  all  the  furniture  upside  down — wake  up 
the  children — and  then,  if  you  please — don't  want  us ! 

First  Sabine  Woman.  And  our  poor  husbands !  Their 
sufferings  are  in  vain. 

Second  Sabine  Woman.  Just  think  of  it — in  the  night- 
time, when  everybody  was  asleep ! 


174  THE   SABINE   WOMEN  acti 

Third  Sabine  Woman.  Say,  do  you  know  the  way  back  ? 

Fourth  Sabine  Woman.  You  doo't  suppose,  do  you,  that 
I  was  observing  the  road?  Of  course  I  don't.  I  only  know 
it  is  dreadfully  far. 

Third  Sabine  Woman.  Well,  it's  obvious  they  won't  carry 
us  back. 

Subdued  laughter. 

Veronica.  [Moaning]  Oh,  my  dear  boy!  See,  they've 
made  him  turn  his  back  to  me !     I  am  going  to  him. 

First  Sabine  Woman.  Wait  a  moment,  Veronica.  Your 
boy  won't  leave  you.  We  must  talk  this  thing  over. 
■^  Proserpina.  I  wonder  whether,  after  all,  it  is  not  all  the 
'  same  what  husbands  we  have,  whether  those  or  these.  The 
others  were  all  right  and  these  are  all  right.  I  am  sure,  at 
least,  that  the  very  first  thing  mine  will  ask  of  me  is  to  make 
him  a  hot  porridge.  I'd  rather  enjoy  having  a  new  hus- 
band. The  old  one  is  sick  of  my  menu,  but  this  gawk  will 
enjoy  it. 

Cleopatra.  For  shame,  Proserpina!  History  will  con- 
demn us. 

Proserpina.  A  lot  history  will  understand  about  our 
doings !     And  here  in  Rome  it's  not  so  very  bad,  after  all. 

Cleopatra.  You're  horrid,  Proserpina.  Just  suppose  they 
should  be  listening  to  us!  But  here's  my  plan,  my  dears. 
Though  we  are,  of  course,  going  home  at  once  to  our  dear, 
late  husbands,  it  is  a  long  walk,  and  we  are  tired. 

First  Sabine  Woman.  My  nerves  are  completely  shat- 
tered ! 

Second  Sabine  Woman.  No  constitution  could  stand  it ! 
All  of  a  sudden  in  the  middle  of  the  night  to  wake  up  the 
whole  house 

Cleopatra.  So  let's  stay  here  a  day  or  two  and  rest. 
That  will  please  them  and  commit  us  to  nothing.     Besides, 


r 


ACT  I  THE  SABINE  WOMEN  175 

when  they  see  how  cheerful  and  modest  we  are,  our  captors 
will  find  it  easier  to  part  with  us.  I  confess,  too,  that  I  am 
a  little  sorry  for  mine.     His  nose  is  a  sight. 

Third  Sabine  Woman.  But  we'll  stay  only  two  days ! 

Fourth  Sabine  Woman.  One  day  will  be  enough  for  me. 
We'll  just  take  a  little  walk —  Hurry,  Cleopatra,  I  think 
they  have  already  fallen  asleep. 

Cleopatra.  [To  Scipio]  Sir! 

SciPio.  [Not  turning  around]  What  you  want  ? 

Cleopatra.  Come  here  a  moment,  please. 

SciPio.  At  your  service,  madam. 

Cleopatra.  We  have  decided  to  accept  your  kind  offer 
and  to  go  away  at  once.     You  are  not  angry? 

SciPio.  Not  at  all. 

Cleopatra.  But  first  we  should  like  to  rest  a  little.  Will 
you  let  us  stay  here  a  day  or  so  and  rest  ?  This  is  a  lovely 
spot. 

All  the  Romans  simultaneously  turn  around  and  spring 
to  their  feet. 

SciPio.  [In  ecstasy]  Dear  madam !  What  has  the  place  to 
do  with  it,  and  what — ?  O  Jupiter!  Madam,  I  swear  by 
Hercules,  I  swear  by  Venus,  I  swear  by  Bacchus !  Madam, 
may  I  be  thrice  anathema  if —  I  swear  by  Aphrodite ! 
Gentlemen,  Ancient  Romans  !     Board  the  ship  ! 

Cleopatra.  I  suggest  that  we  take  a  little  stroll. 

SciPio.  Oh,  madam  !  Gentlemen,  Romans  !  Foot-pace ! 
Dress  front!  left,  right;  left,  right!  Column  of  twos!  [He 
seizes  Cleopatra  by  the  arm  and  leads  her  toward  the  hills. 
At  his  command  the  Romans,  each  seizing  a  Sabine  Woman, 
proudly  jnarch  in  file  behind  him.]  Left,  right;  left,  right! 
One,  two;  one,  two! 

Paulus  Emilius.  [Left  dreaming  alone  upon  the  stage,  rushes 


176  THE  SABINE  WOMEN  acti 

ahouty  crying  'pitifully]  Where  is  she?     Gentlemen,  Ancient 
Romans,  wait !     I  have  lost  her.     Where  is  she  ? 

Veronica  stands  like  a  bride,  her  eyes  modestly  cast 
down. 

Paulus.  [Flying  toward  her  blindly]  Beg  your  pardon, 
madam,  have  you  seen  her? 

Veronica.  You  stupid ! 

Paulus.  I? 

Veronica.  Yes,  stupid ! 

Paulus.  Why,  what  are  you  scolding  me  for  ? 

Veronica.  Scolding  you !  You  silly !  Can't  you  see  ? 
Oh,  my  darling  boy !  I  have  waited  for  you  thirty  years ! 
Oh,  take 

Paulus.  Take  what  ? 

Veronica.  Me.  You  see  it  is  I,  she —  Oh,  you  stupid 
thing ! 

Paulus.  You  ?     No,  you  are  not  the  right  one. 

Veronica.  Yes,  I  am. 

Paulus.  No,  you're  not.    [He  sits  on  the  ground  and  weeps. 

Veronica.  See,  they  have  left  us  alone,  and  I  am  ashamed. 
Come ! 

Paulus.  [Weeps]  You  are  not  the  right  one. 

Veronica.  But  I  say  I  am,  plague  take  you !  Did  any 
one  ever  see  the  like !  My  husband  repeated  that  phrase, 
"You  are  the  wrong  one,"  for  thirty  years,  and  now  this 
suckling  is  at  it.     Give  me  your  hand. 

Paulus.  [Gets  up  in  terror]  You  are  the  wrong  on'?-  Oh, 
oh,  oh,  save  me !     She  has  captured  me ! 

Curtain. 


ACT   II 

A  scene  shrouded  in  gloom,  symbolising  the  sad  plight  of  the  be- 
reaved husbands.  Possibly  rain  is  falling,  and  the  wind 
whistling,  and  perhaps  black  clouds  cover  the  sky;  but  very 
likely  it  just  seems  so.     At  any  rate,  the  gloom  is  horrible.^ 

As  the  curtain  rises  the  disposition  of  the  characters  is  as  fol- 
lows :  At  the  sides,  in  two  symmetrical  groups,  a  part  of  the ' 
Sabine  Men  are  engaged  in  gymnastic  exercises.  As  they 
move  their  arms  they  repeat  with  rapt  attention:  "Twenty- 
five  minutes*  daily  drill  will  banish  every  pain  and  ill." 
In  the  middle  of  the  stage,  on  a  long  bench,  sit  in  a  row  the 
husbands  who  have  children.  Ea^h  one  holds  a  baby  in  his 
arms.  Their  heads  droop  wearily  to  one  side  and  their 
attitudes  dramatise  despair.  It  is  a  distressing  picture. 
For  a  long  time  nothing  is  heard  but  the  ominous,  barely 
audible  whisper:  "Twenty-five  minutes'  daily  drill '* 

Enter  Angus  Martius,  exhibiting  from  a  distance  a 
letter. 
Martius.  The  address,   Sabines !     The  address  of  our 
wives!    The  address,  gentlemen,  the  address! 

Hushed  Voices.  Hear!     Hear!     The  address!    The  ad- 
dress!   We  have  the  address! 

Angus  Martius  quickly  takes  from  his  pocket  a  little 
bell  and  jingles  it. 
VoiGES.  Silence!     Silence! 

«The  mite  en  tchne  should  suggest  that  the  husbands  are  plunged  in  grieland  would 
like  to  be  relieved  of  it. 

177 


178  THE   SABINE  WOMEN  actii 

Martius.  Gentlemen,  Sabines,  history  will  not  reproach 
us  either  for  dilatoriness  or  indecision.  Neither  dilatoriness 
nor  indecision  are  traits  of  the  Sabine,  whose  stormy,  im- 
petuous character  can  scarcely  be  restrained  by  the  flood- 
gates of  reason  and  experience.  Recall,  plundered  husbands, 
whither  we  rushed  on  the  memorable  morning  which  followed 
the  memorable  night  when  those  brigands  basely  kidnapped 
our  hapless  wives.  Do  you  recall,  Sabines,  whither  our 
nimble  legs  carried  us,  devouring  space,  annihilating  all  ob- 
stacles, and  filling  the  land  with  din.  Come,  recall,  gen- 
tlemen ! 

The  Sabines  maintain  a  timid  silence. 

Martius.  Come,  come,  recall,  gentlemen ! 

A  Timid  Voice.  Proserpina,  Proserpina,  my  darling! 
Where  art  thou  ?     0-o-o-oh  ! 

The  Sabines,  in  rapt  silence,  gaze  at  the  mouth  of  the 
speaker. 

Angus  Martius.  [Without  waiting  for  an  answer,  cries  im- 
pressively] To  the  Information  Bureau  !  .  That's  where.  But 
recall,  gentlemen,  our  grief.  That  effete  institution  as  yet 
knew  nothing  and  gave  us  no  correction  of  their  previ- 
ous addresses.  And,  having  for  a  whole  week  replied  to  our 
inquiries  with  ever  the  same  cruel  irony,  it  finally  responded 
in  these  burning  words  [he  reads]:  "Left  for  parts  unknown." 
But,  Sabines,  did  we  rest  satisfied  ?  Recall. 
Sabines  maintain  silence. 

Martius.  No,  we  did  not  rest  satisfied.  Here  is  a  dry  but 
eloquent  enumeration  of  our  achievements  in  these  brief 
eighteen  months.  We  have  inserted  advertisements  in  all 
reputable  newspapers,  with  promises  of  reward  to  the  finder. 
We  have  summoned  all  the  prominent  astrologers,  and  every 
night  from  their  observation  of  the  stars  they  have  sought  to 
divine  the  address  of  our  hapless  wives 


ACTH  THE  SAB'^NE  WOMEN  179 

A  Timid  Voice.  Proserpina,  my  darling,  o-o-o-oh ! 

Martius.  Not  only  have  we  sacrificed  one  thousand 
chickens,  geese,  and  ducks,  but  we  have  disembowelled  all 
the  cats  in  our  endeavours  by  the  inspection  of  birds  and 
animals  to  determine  the  portentous  address.  But,  alas, 
through  the  will  of  the  gods  our  superhuman  eflForts  have 
been  frustrated!  Recall,  Sabines —  However,  it's  not  nec- 
essary. I  will  only  add  that  neither  experimental  nor 
theoretical  science  has  given  us  an  answer.  Even  the  con- 
stellations, to  which  our  gaze  was  turned  with  sorrowful  in- 
quiry, though  they  deigned  to  reply,  were  no  more  definite 
than  the  Information  Bureau:  Left,  left,  left!  Whither? 
For  parts  unknown ! 

Subdued  weeping  among  the  Sabines. 

A  Timid  Voice.  Proserpina !     Oh !  Proserpina ! 

Martius.  Yes,  Sabines,  a  strange  answer  to  receive  from 
the  constellations  when  one  considers  that  from  their  point 
of  vantage  the  whole  universe  is  visible.  But  I  continue  with 
pride  the  enumeration  of  our  achievements.  Recall,  gentle- 
men, what  our  learned  jurists  were  doing  while  the  astrologers 
were  conjecturing  from  the  stars.  Come,  now,  recall ! 
The  Sabines  maintain  silence. 

Martius.  Come,  recall,  gentlemen.  It's  strenuous  work 
talking  to  you.  You  stand  like  statues;  by  Heaven,  you  do ! 
I  am  sure  you  remember,  only  you  are  modest  about  speak- 
ing. Come,  now,  gentlemen;  come,  come,  come,  recall! 
What  were  our  jurists  doing  while 

A  Timid  Voice.     Proserpina,  o-o-o-oh !  o-o-o-oh ! 

Martius.  Silence,  there!  Why  are  you  eternally  dragging 
in  your  Proserpina  ?  Well,  I  will  help  you,  gentlemen.  Do 
you  remember  why  we  are  practising  gymnastics.'  Come, 
come! 

A  Timid  Voice.  [From  the  back  row]  To  develop  our  muscles. 


180  THE  SABI^E  WOMEN  actu 

Martius.  To  be  sure,  and  very  well  said.  And  now,  why 
do  we  need  muscles  ?  Come,  come,  answer  up  !  Gentlemen, 
you  wear  one's  patience  completely  out.  Jog  your  memories. 
Why  do  we  need  muscles,  Sabines  ? 

A  Hesitating  Voice.  To  fight  with. 

Martius.  [Raising  his  arms  to  heaven  in  despair]  Ye 
Heavens!  "To  fight  with!"  And  I  hear  that  from  a 
Sabine,  a  friend  of  the  law,  a  patron  of  order,  the  only  genu- 
ine example  of  a  legal  conscience  in  the  world!  "To  fight 
with!"  lam  ashamed  of  this  ruffianly  breach  of  etiquette 
appropriate  only  to  the  brigand  Romans,  the  base  kidnappers 
of  our  absolutely  legal  wives. 

A  Timid  Voice.   Oh,  Proserpina,  Proserpina ! 

Martius.  Hold  your  tongue,  will  you.''  Proserpina,  in- 
deed !  Just  when  we  are  getting  down  to  general  principles 
you  must  come  in  with  your  maundering  about  Proserpina ! 
But  I  see,  gentlemen,  that  this  bereavement  has  somewhat 
dimmed  your  usually  brilliant  memories,  and  so  I  repeat 
in  brief:  We  need  muscles  in  order  that,  having  learned  the 
address  and  entered  upon  our  march  against  the  Romans 
— do  you  understand  ? — we  may  be  able  to  carry  the  entire 
distance  the  heavy  code  of  laws,  the  collection  of  enact- 
ments and  decisions  on  appeal,  and  also — do  you  understand 
now.'' — the  four  hundred  volumes  of  investigations  which 
our  jurists  have  compiled  on  the  question  of  the  legality  of 
our  marriages — eh,  do  you  understand.'' — and  on  the  ille- 
gality of  kidnapping.  Our  weapons,  Sabines,  are  the  justice 
of  our  cause  and  a  clear  conscience.  We  will  prove  to  the 
base  kidnappers  that  they  are  kidnappers,  and  to  our  wives 
we  will  prove  that  they  were  kidnapped,  and  Heaven  will 
shudder;  for  now  that  the  address  is  found,  it's  all  up  with  the 
Romans.  Look !  [He  shakes  the  letter  and  the  Sabines,  stand- 
ing on  tiptoe,  peek  at  it]    Here  is  a  registered  letter  signed  "A 


ACTu  THE  SABINE  WOMEN  181 

Repentant  Kidnapper."  In  it  some  unknown  friend  expresses 
repentance  for  his  thoughtless  crime.  He  assures  us  that  he 
will  no  longer  kidnap,  and  prays  that  fate  may  have  mercy 
upon  him.  The  name  is  undecipherable — blurred  by  a  big 
blot  where,  apparently,  tears  have  fallen.  There,  gentlemen ! 
That  is  the  power  of  conscience !  He  also  informs  us,  by  the 
way,  that  the  hearts  of  our  wives  are  broken 

A  Timid  Voice.  Proserpin 

Martius.  Please  listen,  will  you  ?  Between  you  and  your 
Proserpina  I  cannot  get  a  word  in  edgewise.  Proserpina,  you 
must  remember,  is  a  mere  detail,  and  yet  at  a  time  when  we 
are  all  with  such  enthusiasm  working  out  general  problems, 
when  we  are  formulating  a  plan— ^I'll  tell  you  about  it  pres- , 
ently — when  we  are  preparing  for  victory  or  death,  you  whine  * 
for  some  insignificant  Proserpina  or  somebody.  In  the  name 
of  the  assembly,  I  call  you  to  order.  And  now,  gentlemen, 
forward !  Attention  !  Form  in  rank  and  file !  Come,  step 
lively,  gentlemen!  Oh,  this  is  maddening!  You  cannot' 
even  yet  distinguish  right  from  left.  Where  are  you  going.'* 
Where  are  you  going  ?  Halt !  [He  seizes  a  Sabine  who  is  out 
of  line  and  instructs  him]  In  order  to  learn  wtich  your  right 
foot  is,  you  must  stand  still  and  look  at  me.  Now  place  your- 
self with  your  face  to  the  north — or,  no,  with  your  face  to  the 
south  and  your  back  to  the  east.  Now,  where  is  your  face  ? 
Man,  that  is  not  your  face,  that  is  your-  back.  See,  here  is 
your  face;  can't  you  understand?  Oh,  this  is  intolerable! 
If  you  want  to  know  which  your  right  foot  is,  look  at  your 
neighbour.  Now,  gentlemen,  which  of  you  have  penknives? 
Turn  your  pockets  inside  out.  Good.  Toothpicks?  Leave 
them  behind.  Not  a  suggestion  of  violence,  gentlemen;  noth- 
ing that  pricks  or  cuts.  Our  weapons  are  a  clear  conscience 
and  the  justice  of  our  cause.  Now  each  ohe  of  you  take  up  a 
volume  of  the  laws  and  investigations.     Good  J    They  ought 


182  THE  SABINE  WOMEN  acth 

to  be  bound,  but  we'll  attend  to  that  later.  Now  you  see 
what  muscles  are  for !  Very  good,  very  good.  Trumpeters 
to  the  front !  Remember,  you're  to  play  *'The  March  of  the 
Plundered  Husbands."  Forw —  Hold  on  !  Do  you  remem- 
ber how  to  march  ? 

The  Sabines  remain  silent. 

f       Martius.   You  don't  .'^     Well,  I  will  remind  you.    Two 

/     steps  forward,  one  step  backward;    two  steps  forward,  one 

step  backward.     The  first  two  steps  are  designed  to  indicate, 

Sabines,  the  unquenchable  fire  of  our  stormy  souls,  the  firm 

will,  the  irresistible  advance.     The  step  backward  symbolises 

the  step  of  reason,  the  step  of  experience  and  of  the  mature 

mind.     In  taking  that  step  we  ponder  the  outcome  of  our 

:      acts.    In  taking  it  we  also  maintain,  as  it  were,  a  close  bond 

\      with  tradition,  with  our  ancestors,  with  our  great  past.    His- 

\     tory  makes  no  leaps,  and  we,  Sabines,  at  this  great  moment, 

we  are  history.     Trumpeters,  trumpet ! 

The  trumpets  emit  a  doleful  wail,  which,  now  convulsively 
lurching  forward  and  now  smoothly  and  gently  sway- 
V-  ing  backward,  carries  with  it  the  whole  army  of  plun- 
dered husbands.  Taking  two  steps  forward  and  one 
step  backward,  they  slowly  pass  across  the  stage.^ 
The  curtain  falls.  The  trumpets  blare  wearily  and  the 
second  scene  passes  into  the  third. 

iThe  St.  Petersburg  theatre,  "The  Convex  Mirror,"  very  successfully  adapted  for 
this  scene  the  air  of  the  "Marseillaise."  In  the  first  two  measures  the  trumpets 
sounded  boldly  and  triumphantly,  while  in  the  succeeding  measure  they  emitted  a 
kind  of  belch  as  mournful  as  it  was  distressing. 


V 


ACT   III 

The  same  wild  scene  as  in  the  first  act,  though  there  are  mm  some 
traces  of  orderliness.  Near  one  of  the  huts  stands  a  Roman 
in  a  lazy  attitude^  blissfully  picking  his  nose.  In  the  back- 
groundy  at  the  lefty  the  army  of  husbands  is  seen  marching 
with  concentrated  attention  in  the  same  manner  as  before: 
two  steps  fonvard,  one  step  backward.  The  Roman,  on 
catching  sight  of  them,  shows  at  first  signs  of  animation, 
and,  ceasing  to  attend  to  his  nose,  watches  them  with  good- 
natured  curiosity.  The  slowness  of  their  movements,  how- 
ever, apparently  makes  him  drowsy.  He  yawns,  stretches 
languidly,  and  seats  himself  leisurely  on  a  stone.  At  a 
signal  from  Angus  Martius  the  trumpets  cease. 
Martius.  [In  a  tone  of  despair]  Halt,  Sabines !  Halt,  will 
you? 

The  Sabines  halt  as  if  rooted  to  the  spot. 
Martius.  Come,  halt,   will  you?      Oh,   Heavens!      Will 
nothing  hold  back  this  falling  avalanche?     Will  nothing — 
Thank  God,  they  have  halted !    Attention  !    Trumpeters,  to 
the  rear!     Professors,  to  the  front.     The  rest,  attention! 

The  Trumpeters  withdraw,  the  Professors  advance. 
The  rest  stand  as  if  fettered. 
Martius.  Professors,  make  ready ! 

The  Professors  quickly  squat  down,  unfold  little  tables, 
lay  upon  each  table  a  thick  book,  and  open  the  covers 
with  a  clatter.  The  effect  is  something  like  the  firing 
of  a  field-battery.  The  Roman  {it  is  Sctpio),  waking 
up,  apparently  becomes  interested  and  inquires  in  a 
183 


184  THE  SABINE   WOMEN  actiu 

friendly  manner :   "  What  is  the  matter,  gentlemen  ? 
What  can  I  do  for  you  ?     If  this  is  a  circus,  I  take 
the  liberty  to  inform  you  that  the  Colosseum  is  not 
yet  jBnished." 
Martius.  [Calmly]  Silence,  base  kidnapper!  [To  the  Sa- 
BiNBs]  And  now,  Sabines,  we  have  reached  the  wished-for 
goal.     Behind  us  is  the  long  path  of  privation,  hunger,  soli- 
tude, and  canned  fruit.     Before  us  a  struggle  such  as  history 
has  never  known.     Be  inspired,  Sabines,  but  control  your- 
selves; be  tranquil.     Maintaining  a  spirit  of  natural  indigna- 
tion, calmly  await  the  fated  end.     Recall,  Sabines,  why  we 
have  come  here. 

The  Sabines  are  silent. 
Martius.  Come,  recall,  gentlemen!      We  surely  did  not 
come  here  with  these  huge  books  merely  to  take  a  walk  1 
Come,  recall,  gentlemen.     Why  are  we  here  ? 
SciPio.  Come,  come,  gentlemen,  recall. 
Martius.  [To  Scipio]  Just  think  of  it,  they're  always  like 
that! 

Scipio.  You  don't  mean  it ! 

Martius.  It's  a  fact.  They  stand  like  graven  images. 
They  can  do  nothing  but  blink  their  eyes.  Tell  me,  now — 
Can  one  deliver  a  first-class  speech  without  resorting  to  the 
exclamation  "Recall,  gentlemen".'* 

Scipio.  [Good-naturedly  shaking  his  head]  Well,  scarcely. 
It  would  be  a  queer  speech. 

Martius.  There !  Of  course  it  would.  Even  you  under- 
stand that,  but  as  for  these  fellows 

From  the  ranks  of  the  Sabines  comes  a  tremulous  voice : 
"Oh,    Proserpina,    my    darling,   where   art   thou? 
0-o-o-oh!" 
Scipio.  [Puzzled]  He  must  be  recalling. 
Martius.  [Contemptuously]  Oh,    he    is    always    recalling. 


ACT  III  THE  SABINE  WOMEN  185 

[To  the  Sabines]  Attention !  We  are  now  going  to  make  a 
peremptory  demand  for  our  wives.  Woe  to  the  abductors 
if  their  conscience  has  not  yet  awakened!  We  will  have  the 
law  of  them.  Oh,  base  abductor;  summon  your  base  com- 
panions and  prepare  for  the  dire  penalty! 
SciPio.  I  will  call  my  wife  at  once. 

He  goes  into  the  huty  calling :  "Cleopatra !    Come  out, 

please;  some  one  wants  to  see  you  on  business !" 
Paulus  Emious  peeks  from  around  the  comer  and,  rec- 
ognising the  Sabines,  shouts  joyfully:    "The  hus- 
bands have  come !     The  husbands  have  come  !     An- 
cient Romans,  wake  up  !     The  husbands  are  here !  '* 
He  rushes  to  Martius  and,  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  hangs 
upon  his  neck.     Martius  is  nonplussed.     Paulus 
hurries  on,  repeating  the  joyous  cry :  "The  husbands 
are  here!" 
The  drowsy  Romans  crawl  out  of  their  huts  and  take  up 
a  position  on  the  right  side  of  the  stage.     Martius,  in 
a  dramatic  pose,  haughtily  waits  until  they  are  assem- 
hied. 
The  Fat  Roman.  By  Bacchus !    I  have  had  as  delightful 
a  sleep  as  on  the  day  we  founded  Rome.     What's  that  row 
of  dummies  ^ 
First  Roman.  Sh !    That's  the  husbands. 
The  Fat  Roman.  Heavens,  but  I'm  thirsty !    Proserpina, 
my  pet,  bring  me  some  cider ! 

From   the  ranks  of  the  Sabines  comes  a  faint  cry: 
"  Proserpina !     0-o-o-oh ! " 
The  Fat  Roman.  What  does  he  want  ?    Is  he,  too,  calling 
my  wife  ? 
First  Roman.  Sh !    That's  her  husband. 
The  Fat   Roman.  Oh,   I  forgot!     Heavens,   but  I  am 
thirsty !    After  that  hot  porridge  and  a  sound  sleep  I  could 


186  THE   SABINE   WOMEN  acthi 

drink  a  lake  dry.     And  what  porridge  Proserpina  can  make ! 
Really,  Romans,  it  is  a  gift  of  the  gods ! 

First  Roman.  Sh ! 

The  Fat  Roman.  The  deuce,  I  forgot!  But  I  had  the 
queerest  dream  just  now.  I  thought  I  was  asleep  and  sud- 
denly I  saw  Rome  beginning  to  fall,  fall,  fall — and  then  it 
fell. 

First  Roman.  But  how  about  our  wives?  Although 
they  have  callers,  they  do  not  appear.  It's  an  awkward 
situation. 

Second  Roman.  Probably  they  are  dressing. 

First  Roman.  Oh,  woman,  thy  name  is  vanity !  One 
might  expect  them  to  say,  "Pooh!  it's  only  my  late  husband  !" 
but  no,  they  can't  escape  the  eternal  feminine.  Really,  the 
psychology  of  woman  is  beyond  me! 

The  Fat  Roman.  Heavens,  but  I  am  thirsty !  How  long 
are  those  Egyptian  mummies  going  to  stand  there?  They 
have  trumpets.  They  might  at  least  strike  up  a  tune. 
Look !     Look !    They  move ! 

Martius.  Romans,  at  last  we  stand  face  to  face.  I  trust 
that,  setting  aside  all  dissimulation,  you  w  ill  give  us  a  direct 
and  honest  answer.  Do  you  recall,  Romans,  the  deed  you 
committed  on  the  night  between  the  20th  and  the  21st  of 
April  ? 

The  Romans  looTc  at  one  another  in  embarrassed  silence. 

Martius.  Come,  recall !  Is  it  possible  you  cannot  recall  ? 
Try  to  recall,  gentlemen.  I  assure  you,  I  shall  not  stir  a  step 
until  you  recall. 

The  Fat  Roman.  [Terrified,  whispers  to  another]  Maybe 
you  can  remember,  Agrippa  ?  It  must  have  been  something 
important,  huh? 

V  Remarks  by  the  Romans  :  "No,  I  can't  remember  any- 
thing."    "I  must  have  lost  my  memory  while  I  was 


ACT  III  THE  SABINE  WOMEN  187 

asleep."     "I*d  better  go;  you  can  tell  me  about  it 
afterward."     "Really,  what  does  he  want?" 
Martius.  [In   a    loud    voice]  Then    I    will    remind   you, 
Romans.      On  the  night  between  the  20th  and  21st  of  Apnl 
there  was  committed  the  greatest  crime  known  to  history. 
Certain  individuals — I  will  disclose  their  identity  later — vil- 
lainously abducted  our  wives,  the  beautiful  Sabine  women. 
The  Romans,  rememberingy  confirm  the  statement  with 
joyful  noddings  of  the  head:   "Yes,  yes,  yes,  yes!" 
"Ho!    That's  what  is  on  foot!"     "Perfectly  true. 
*Twas  the  20th  of  April." 
The  Fat  Roman.  [Deeply  impressed]  These  Sabines  have 
heads ! 

Martius.  And  you  were  the  abductors,  Romans !  Oh,  I 
know  you  will  attempt  to  justify  yourselves.  You  will  dis- 
tort the  facts.  You  will  basely  pervert  the  legal  norms,  taking 
refuge  in  that  abominable  casuistry  which  is  inevitably  linked 
with  every  violation  of  right.  But  we  are  prepared.  Pro- 
fessors, begin ! 

The  Professor  at  the  end  of  the  line  begins  speaking  in 
a  mxmotonou^  voice  that  seems  to  come  from  beyond  the 
bounds  'of  space  and  time:  "Concerning  Crimes 
against  Property;  volume  one,  division  one,  chapter 
one,  page  on^  entitled  On  the  Subject  of  Robbery 
in  General.  In  very  ancient  times,  far  more  ancient 
than  the  present  time,  when  birds,  insects,  and 
beetles  fearlessly  hopped  about  in  the  sunlight  aSH 
no  violations  of  justice  entered  into  their  conscious- 
ness, inasmuch  as  there  was  no  consciousness — in 

those  remote  times " 

Martius.  Attention,  Romans,  attention ! 
SciPio.  Can't  you  make  it  shorter? 


188  THE  SABINE   WOMEN  act  in 

Martius.  Can't  be  done. 

SciPio.  But  your  hearers  will  go  to  sleep. 

Martius.  Do  you  think  so  ? 

SciPio.  Why,  as  you  see,  they  are  already  dozing,  and  when 
they  are  dozing  they  don't  hear  anything.  Can't  you  begin 
at  the  other  end,  eh?  Come,  be  so  good  as  to  say  straight 
out  what  you  want. 

Martius.  In  sooth,  this  is  a  strange  argument !  But  be 
it  so.  Condescending  to  the  weakness  of  your  friends,  I  will 
tell  you  directly  that  we  want  to  prove  to  you  that  you  were 
wrong  when  you  abducted  our  wives,  and  that  you  Romans 
are  abductors,  and  that  by  no  subtleties  of  sophistry  will  you 
succeed  in  justifying  your  base  act !  Even  the  heavens  will 
shudder ! 

SciPio.  Really,  really,  my  dear  fellow,  we  don't  even  deny 
it. 

Martius.  You  don't.^^     Then  why  have  we  come  here.'^ 

SciPio.  I  don't  know.     Perhaps  you  were  out  for  a  stroll. 

Martius.  No,  we  came  on  purpose  to  prove  these  things 
to  you.  It's  very  odd.  Then  you  agree  that  you  are  ab- 
ductors ? 

SciPio.  Unreservedly.  And  I  find  the  word  "abductors'* 
very  appropriate. 

Martius.  But  perhaps  you  are  not  thoroughly  convinced 
of  it.''  In  that  case  the  professor  is  quite  ready —  Aren't 
you.  Professor  .f*     Are  you  not  quite  ready  to 

SciPio.  Oh,  no !  You  mustn't.  We  are  thoroughly  con- 
vinced.    Romans,  back  me  up  or  he  will  begin  again ! 

Romans.  Agreed,  agreed! 

Martius.  Well,  then,  what's  all  this  about.'* 

SciPio.  I  don't  know. 

Martius.  Here  is  a  strange  misunderstanding.     Sabines, 


ACTiu  THE  SABINE  WOMEN  189 

celebrate  your  triumph !  They  confess  their  guilt.  The  mere 
appearance  of  our  threatening  preparations  has  awakened 
in  them  the  powerful  voice  of  legal  conscience,  and  Heaven 
itself  has  shuddered.  It  only  remains  for  us,  in  the  conscious- 
ness of  having  performed  our  duty,  to  return  and 

A  Trembling  Voice.  But  my  Proserpina? 

Martius.  Ah,  yes !  Inappropriate  though  your  expression 
may  be,  you  have  the  right  idea — quite  right,  my  friend. 
Romans,  here  is  a  complete  and  accurate  list  of  the  names 
of  our  wives.  Be  so  kind  as  to  return  them  to  us.  For  all 
loss,  all  damage — what's  the  wording  of  your  law  there. 
Professor  ? 

Professor.  Tare  and  tret. 

Martius.  No,  no !  "Injury  !'*  Yes,  for  every  injury  you 
will  be  held  responsible.  Read  the  entire  section.  Professor. 
However — here  are  our  wives.  Attention,  Sabines !  Main- 
tain your  self-control,  I  beseech  you.  Restrain  the  outburst 
of  passion  until  the  question  of  justice  is  settled —  Two  steps 
forward,  one  step  backward!  Halt!  Greetings  to  you, 
Sabine  wives !    Welcome,  Cleopatra ! 

The  Women  with  eyes  downcast  and  modest  aspect,  digni- 
fied and  yet  submissive,  occupy  the  centre  of  the  stage, 

Cleopatra.  [Without  raising  her  eyes]  If  you  have  come 
to  scold,  Ancus  Martius,  let  me  tell  you  that  we  do  not 
deserve  your  reproaches.  We  struggled  long  and  did  not 
yield  except  on  compulsion.  I  swear  to  you,  beloved  Mar- 
tius, I  have  not  for  a  single  moment  ceased  to  weep  for  you. 
She  weeps  and,  taking  her  cue,  all  the  Sabine  Women 
weep. 

Martius.  Calm  yourself,  Cleopatra.  They  have  already 
confessed  that  they  are  abductors.  Let  us  now  return  to 
our  household  gods,  Cleopatra. 

Cleopatra.  [Without  raising  her  eyes]  I  fear  that  you  will 


190  THE  SABINE   WOMEN  actiii 

scold  us,  but  we  have  become  accustomed  to  this  location. 
Don't  you  like  these  hills,  Martins  ? 

Martius.  I  don't  understand  you,  Cleopatra.  What  have 
the  hills  to  do  with  it? 

Cleopatra.  I  fear  you  will  be  angry,  but,  really,  we  are 
not  to  blame.  I  have  already  wept  for  you  in  due  form,  Mar- 
tins, and  now  I  cannot  understand  at  all  what  you  want. 
More  tears  1  Oh,  as  many  as  j^ou  like.  My  dear  friends,  they 
think  we  have  not  wept  enough  for  them.  Let  us  show  them 
their  error.  Oh,  weep,  weep,  my  dear  friends  !  I  loved  you 
so,  Martius ! 

The  Women  shed  rivers  of  tears. 

SciPio.  Calm  yourself,  Cleopatra.  Excitement  is  bad  for 
you  now.  And  you,  sir,  do  you  hear?  Go  back  home. 
Come,  Cleopatra,  lie  down  and  rest.  I  will  look  after  the 
soup  myself. 

Martius.  And  what  has  the  soup  to  do  with  it,  I  should 
like  to  know  ?     Calm  yourself,  Cleopatra,  there  is  some  mis- 
understanding  here.     Apparently   you   do   not   understand 
that  you  are  abducted. 
I     ^Cleopatra.  [Weeping]  There,  I  told  you  you  were  going 
'  to  scold !    Bcipio,  deary,  have  you  my  handkerchief? 

SciPio.  Here  it  is,  precious. 

Martius.  But  I  should  like  to  know  what  the  handker- 
chief has  to  do  with  it. 

Cleopatra.  [Weeping]  What  a  fuss  to  make  about  a  hand- 
kerchief!  I  cannot  get  on  without  a  handkerchief  when  I 
^m  crying,  and  it  is  all  your  fault.  You  are  a  cruel  monster, 
Ancus  Martius ! 

They  all  weep,  Sabine  Women,  Sabine  Men,  and  even 
several  of  the  Romans. 

The  Voice.  Proserpina !     0-o-o-oh ! 

Martius.  [In  a  sonorous  voice]  Calm  yourselves,  Sabines. 


ACT  III  THE  SABINE  WOMEN  191 

Control  yourselves.  Don't  move;  I'll  settle  everything  in  a 
jiflFy.  There  apparently  is  some  misunderstanding  of  a  legal 
nature.  This  unhappy  woman  thinks  she  is  accused  of  steal- 
ing a  handkerchief  and  does  not  even  dream  that  she  herself 
is  stolen.     We  will  prove  this  to  her.     Professors,  begin. 

The  Professors  rnake  preparations.  The  Romans  are 
horror-stricken.  Scipio  seizes  Cleopatra  by  the 
hand. 

Scipio.  Own  up,  Cleopatra!  Come,  be  quick!  Heavens* 
he  will  begin  in  a  moment ! 

Cleopatra.  I  have  nothing  to  confess.     It  is  all  slander. 

Martius.  Professor,  we  are  waiting.  , 

Scipio.  Come,  hurry,  own  up!     Oh,  Heavens,  he  is  already  j 
opening  his  mouth!    He  will  have  it  open  in  a  minute t^ 
Sabines!     Wait!     She   has   confessed!     Shut   your   mouth. 
Professor,  she  has  confessed ! 

Cleopatra.  Very  well,  I  confess.  [To  the  Women]  My  dear 
friends,  do  you  confess,  too  ? 

Scipio.  [Hastily]  Yes,  they  all  confess.  Everything  is  all 
right. 

Martius.  [In  perplexity]  One  moment,  sir,  if  you  please. 
Cleopatra,  do  you  admit  that  you  and  the  other  Sabine 
women  were  abducted  on  the  night  between  the  20th  and  the 
21st  of  April  ?    Do  you  ? 

Cleopatra.  [Spitefully]  No,  we  ran  away  of  ourselves. 

Martius.  There,  you  see !  She  doesn't  understand.  Mr. 
Profes 

Cleopatra.  That's  mean  of  you,  Martius.  You  over- 
slept. You  did  not  defend  us;  you  gave  us  up;  you  forgot 
us;  you  abandoned  us;  and  now  you  accuse  us  of  running 
away.  We  were  abducted,  Martius,  basely  abducted.  You 
can  read  about  it  in  any  Roman  history,  to  say  nothing  [weep^ 
ing]  of  the  encyclopedia. 


\ 


192  THE   SABINE   WOMEN  acthi 

SciPio.  [Shouting]  Come,  shut  your  mouth.  Professor ! 
But  the  Professor's  mouth  remains  open.     The  Romans 
are  thrown  into  a  panicy  and  some  rush  off  the  stage. 
Martius.  Romans,  Sabines,  attention  !    I  will  remove  the 
diflSculty  in  a  moment.     There  is  some  misunderstanding  of 
a  mechanical  nature.     Allow  me  to  inspect  you.  Professor. 
Why,  to  be  sure.     I  might  have  known  it.     The  hinge  is 
broken  and  he  cannot  shut  his  mouth.     No  matter.     We  will 
fix  it  up  when  we  get  home.     For  the  present  it  is  enough  that 
they  admit  they  were  abducted.     I  have  heard  it  with  my  own 
ears.     Our  goal  is  attained,  and  Heaven  itself  has  shuddered. 
Let  us  go  back  to  our  household  gods,  Cleopatra. 

Cleopatra.  I  don't  want  to  go  back  to  our  household  gods. 

The  Sabine  Women.  Rubbish  about  your  household  gods! 

We  don't  want  to  go  back  to  our  household  gods.     We  are 

going  to  stay  here.     They  are  insulting  us !     They  are  getting 

ready  to  abduct  us !     Save  us,  help,  defend  us ! 

The  Romans  with  clattering  weapons  take  a  position  be- 
tween the  Women  and  the  Sabines  and  gradually 
crowd  the  Women  into  the  background.     They  cast 
angry  glances  at  the  Sabines. 
Voices.  To  arms,  Romans !    To  the  defence  of  your  wives ! 
To  arms,  Romans ! 

Martius.  [Ringing  his  bell]  What  is  the  matter.?  There 
will  be  a  fight  here  in  a  minute.  My  brain  is  in  a  whirl. 
Sabines,  my  brain  is  in  a  whirl. 

Proserpina.  [Coming  forward  and  speaking  in  a  slow,  calm 
voice]  Don't  get  excited,  Romans,  I  will  speak  with  Martius 
alone. 

From  the  ranks  of  the  Sabines  comes  a  quavering  voice, 
a  mournful  call  of  love:  "Proserpina,  my  darling, 
o-o-o-o-oh ! " 


ACT  III  THE  SABINE  WOMEN  193 

Proserpina.  [Coolly]  Ah,  my  dove!  How  are  you? 
Come  here,  Ancus  Martius,  and  don't  be  afraid;  your  army 
won't  run  away.  Do  you  understand  that  neither  your  wife, 
Cleopatra,  nor  we  other  Sabine  women  wish  to  go  home? 
Do  you  understand  that? 

Martius.  I  am  dazed.  How  can  I  live  without  Cleopatra  ? 
I  cannot  live  without  Cleopatra !  She  is  my  perfectly  legal 
wife.     Do  you  think  she  won't  come  back  on  any  terms? 

Proserpina.  Not  on  any  terms. 

Martius.  What  am  I  to  do?  You  see  that  I  love  her. 
How  can  I  live  without  her  ?  [He  weeps. 

Proserpina.  Cheer  up,  Martius.  [She  whispers]  I  am  sorry 
for  you,  and  I  will  tell  you  as  a  secret  that  there  is  only  one 
means,  one  solitary  means  left — abduct  her ! 

Martius.  But  will  she  come? 

Proserpina.  [Shrugging  her  shoulders]  How  can  she  help 
coming  if  you  abduct  her  ? 

Martius.  But  that  would  be  wicked.  You  are  suggesting 
to  me  that  I  commit  violence.  What  would  then  become  of 
my  legal  conscience,  or  can  it  be  that  you  women  believe  that 
might  is  right  ?     Oh,  woman,  woman ! 

Proserpina.  Oh,  we  have  heard  "Woman,  woman!"  be- 
fore. It  was  a  leaden  day  when  the  gods  made  you,  Martius. 
You  are  unutterably  stupid.  If  I  am  to  remain  faithful,  I 
want  a  strong  man,  the  strongest  man  there  is.  Do  you 
think  we  are  so  fond  of  being  abducted  and  stolen,  and  asked 
back  and  returned,  and  lost  and  found,  and 

The  Voice.  Proserpina,  my  darling,  o-o-o-oh! 

Proserpina.  Yes,  my  dear.  How  are  you — ?  And  to 
have  people  deal  with  us  as  if  we  were  things.  I  no  sooner  get 
accustomed  to  one  man  than  along  comes  another  and  carries 
me  away,  and  I  no  sooner  get  accustomed  to  the  new  man 
than  the  old  one  appears  and  says:  "Come  back."    Really, 


194  THE   SABINE   WOMEN  actiii 

Martius,  if,  as  you  protest,  you  want  your  wife  to  be  your 
own,  then  all  you  have  to  do  is  to  be  the  strongest.  Give  in 
to  no  one,  struggle  for  her  tooth  and  nail.  In  short,  die  in 
her  defence.  Believe  me,  Martius,  there  is  no  greater  joy 
for  a  woman  than  to  die  upon  the  grave  of  a  husband  who  has 
fallen  in  her  defence.  And  be  assured,  Martius,  that  a  woman 
'  proves  false  only  after  her  husband  has  proved  false. 

Martius.  But  they  have  swords  and  we  are  weaponless. 

Proserpina.  Get  swords ! 

Martius.  But  they  have  strong  muscles  and  we  have  not. 

Proserpina.  Get  strong !  Oh,  Martius,  you  are  an  im- 
penetrable fool ! 

Martius.  [Springing  away  from  her]  And  you  are  a 
trifling  and  silly  woman.  Long  live  the  law!  Let  them 
take  my  wife  from  me  by  brute  violence;  let  them  ruin  my 
home;  let  them  extinguish  my  hearth;  I  shall  never  prove 
false  to  the  law.  Let  the  whole  world  laugh  at  the  unfortu- 
nate Sabines,  they  will  not  prove  false  to  the  law.  Virtue 
commands  respect,  even  in  rags.  Sabines,  retreat!  Weep, 
Sabines,  weep  bitter  tears !  Sob,  beat  your  breasts,  and  be 
not  ashamed  of  tears.  Let  them  stone  us,  let  them  mock  us, 
but  weep!  Let  them  besmear  us  with  mud!  Weep,  Sabines; 
you  are  weeping  for  the  scorned  and  down-trampled  law. 
Forward,  Sabines.  Attention !  Trumpeters,  strike  up  the 
march.  Two  steps  forward,  one  step  backward;  two  steps 
forward,  one  step  backward. 

The  Women  begin  to  weep. 

Cleopatra.  Martius,  wait ! 

Martius.  Avaunt,  woman,  I  know  thee  not!  Slow 
march ! 

The  trumpets  set  up  a  mournful  wail.  The  Women, 
weeping  and  wailing  loudly,  are  drawn  toward  their  for- 
mer husbands,  but  the  Romans  hold  them  back  by  force. 


ACTui  THE  SABINE   WOMEN  195 

Laughter  on  the  part  of  the  victors.  Paying  no  atten- 
tion either  to  the  tears  or  the  laughter ^  bid  bending  under 
the  weight  of  the  laws,  the  SABmES  slowly  withdraw; 
two  steps  forward,  one  step  backward. 


BIBLIOGRAPHY  OF 
ANDREYEFF 

I.    EDITIONS  OF  COLLECTED  WORKS 

L.  Andreev,  Razskazy.  Moskva,  1901.  Contains:  Bezdna, 
V  podvale,  SmSkh,  Stfina. 

L.  Andreev  i  S.  S.  Glagol',  Pod  Vpechatleniem  khudozhest- 
vennago  teatra.  Moskva,  1902.  {Published  under  the 
pseudonym  "James  Lynch.")  Contains:  Dissonans, 
Kogda  my,  mertvye,  probuzhdaemsia  ? ;  Tri  sestry ; 
Dikaia  utka;  Esli  zhizn'  ne  udastsia  teb6,  to  udastsia 
smert' ;  Liudi  tenebol  storony. 

L.  Andreev,  Razskasy  i  p'esy,  vols.  I-IV.  Petrograd,  Znanie 
Co.,  1906-1907. 

L.  Andreev,  Sobranle  sochinenll,  vols.  V-VII.  Petrograd, 
Shipovnik  Co.,  1909.  Supplement  to  the  preceding  edi- 
tion; contains  a  portrait  of  A. 

L.  Andreeva  i  A.  I.  Kuprin,  lumoristicheskTe  razskazy,  2  vols. 
Petrograd,  Kornfel'd,  1909. 

L.  Andreev,  SobranYe  sochinenH,  vols.  I-XIV.  Petrogratl, 
ProsvSshehenie  Co.,  1911-13.  With  a  portrait  of  the 
author  and  an  Introduction  by  Professor  Reisner.  The 
most  complete  edition  as  yet  published. 

L.  Andreev,  Polnoe  sobranle  sochinenll.  Prilozhenle  "Nivi." 
Petrograd,  1913. 

II.    CHRONOLOGICAL  LIST  OF  ANDREYEFF'S 
WRITINGS 

Note. — In  case  special  editions,  translations,  commen- 
taries, or  reviews  of  separate  works  exist,  they  are  indicated 
under  the  title  of  each  work.     An  *  after  a  title  indicates  that 

197 


198       BIBLIOGRAPHY  OF  ANDREYEFF 

a  separate  edition  of  the  given  work  is  published  by  Ladysch- 
nikow  in  Berhn.  An  Arabic  numeral  after  a  title  indicates 
that  a  translation  of  the  given  work  is  published  in  the  vol- 
ume bearing  that  number  in  list  III  of  this  bibliography. 

1898 
Bargamot  i  Garas'ka.^^,  14 
Zashchita :  istori'ia  odnago  dnia.     The  Defence  :  One  Day  of 

My  Life. 
Iz  zhizni  shtabs-kapitana  Kablukova.^*    From  the  Life  of 

Captain  Kablukov. 
Molodezh'.     Youth. 

1899 

Pervyl  gonorar.     My  First  Fee. 

Drug.     A  Friend. 

U  okna.     At  the  Window. 

Petka  na  dache.^^    Little  Peter  in  the  Country. 

Valia.     Little  Valia. 

Mel'kom.     An  Incident. 

Angelochek.13     The  Little  Wax  Angel. 

Bol'shol  shlem.     A  Grand  Slam. 

1900 

During  the  years  1900-1902  Andreyeff  wrote  the  22  sketches 

and  5  fragments  'published  in  lUmoristichesk'ie  razskazy. 

Petrograd,  1909.     The  titles  of  these  are  not  included  in 

this  list. 
Lozh'.i-2    The  Lie. 
Na  rek§.     On  the  River. 
Prazdnik.     A  Holiday. 
Razskaz   {or  Povest')   o  Sergee  PetrovichS.     The  Story  of 

Sergius  Petrovich. 
Mat'.     Mother. 
Prekrasna  zliizn'  dlia  voskresshikh.     Life  is  Beautiful  for  the 

Resurrected. 


BIBLIOGRAPHY  OF  ANDREYEFF       199 

Life  is  so  Beautiful  for  the  Resurrected ;  trans,  (vnih  pref- 
atory note)  by  Geo.  E.  Haendelmann,  in  Current  Lit., 
49  (1910): 344-5. 
Molchanie.2'  "    Silence. 

Silence;  trans,  from  the  Russian  by  J.  G)urnos.  2d  ed. 
(Modern  Authors'  Series.)  Philadelphia,  1910.  Re- 
viewed in :  Independent,  65  :  615  ;   Nation,  87  :  494. 

Silence ;  trans,  with  Introductory  Note  entitled :  The  Apostle 
of  the  Terrible,  in  Lippincott's,  90  (Aug.  12, 1912) :  235- 
51^ 

V  temnuiu  dal'.    In  the  Dim  Distance. 

1901 

Sm6kh.*    Laughter. 

Gostinets."    A  Gift. 

Zhili-byli.2    Once  upon  a  Time.     Discussed  in:  Birzh,  Vid., 

April  9,  1901  (A.  Izmaflov). 
Kusaka."'  ^'*    A  Homeless  Cur. 
Kniga.     The  Book. 
StSna.    The  WaU. 
Sluchal.     An  Incident. 
Nabat.i3    The  Alarm. 
L'  Epouvante;    trad,  du  russe  par  T.  de  Wyzewa  et  S. 
Persky.     Paris,  1903. 

V  podval^.  ^'  ^^    In  a  Basement. 

Im  Erdgeschoss  und  Anderes.    Berlin,  1903. 

1902 

Bezdna.*    The  Abyss. 

Bezdna,  s  stat'el  L.  Tolstogo  i  polemicheskol  litcraturol. 
Berlin,  1903. 

Le  GouflFre ;  trad,  du  russe  par  S.  Persky.     Paris,  190S. 

B.  Ribikov  has  composed  an  opera  on  the  basis  of  "  Berdn*. 
VesnoX.     In  Spring. 
Gorod.    The  City. 
Mysl'.<    Thought. 


200       BIBLIOGRAPHY  OF  ANDREYEFF 

A  Dilemma :   A  Story  of  Mental  Perplexity ;   trans,  from 

the    Russian    by    J.    Cournos.     Philadelphia,    1909. 

Reviewed  in:  Review  of  Rev.,  42:123;   Independent, 

69 :  705. 
Discussed  in:    Pravda,  1904  (A.  Vol'skii).     See  also:    A. 

lAnishevskil,  Gerol  razskaza  "Mysl',"  Kazan,  1903. 
Originarnyi  chelovek.     An  Original  Character. 
Inostranets.^'  ^^    The  Stranger. 
V  tumane.''    In  the  Fog. 

Im  Nebel,   Erzahlung.     (Russ.   Text.)     Berlin,   Steinets, 

1903. 
Im   Nebel;    ubersetzt   von    S.    Wermer.     Vienna,    1903. 

(Bibliotek  beriihmter  Authoren.) 
Im  Nebel ;  aus  dem  Russ.  von  L.  A.  Hauff.     Berlin,  1905. 
Discussed  in :  Obr.,  1903  (A.  Boktrom) ;  Pravda,  1904  (A. 

Vol'skn).     See  also:    leromonakh  Mikhail,  Otsam  i 

dfitiam.     Moskva,  1904. 
Predstoiala  krazha.^^    A  Burglary  was  Planned. 

The  Burglar;    trans,  from  the  Russ.  by  Thomas  Seltzer, 

in  Current  Lit.,  39  :  109-111. 

1903 

Iz  moe!  zhizni.     From  My  Life. 
Marsel'eza.     The  Marseillaise. 
Vesenniia  obSshchan!ia.^    The  Promise  of  Spring. 
Na  Stantsii.^^    At  a  Way  Station. 
Ben-Tovit.     Ben  Tobit. 

Zliizn'  o.  Basilia  Fivelskago.*  The  Life  of  Father  Fiveiski. 
Zhizn'  .  .  .  (Russian  Text).  Munich,  Etzold  &  Co.,  1904. 
Das  Leben  Vater  Wassili  Fiweiskis ;  Deutsch  von  G.  Po- 

lonski.     Berlin,  1906. 
French  transl.,  see  under  Razskaz  o  semi.  .  .  . 
Discussed  in:J)hr.y  1904,  No.  5  (N.  Asheshev) ;  Rus\  1904 
(V.  Botsianovskn) ;  Gohs  ftga,  Dec.  14,  1904  (Volsh- 
sfeff) ;   Odessk.  Nov.,  July  20,  1904  (I.  Gekker) ;   Vest. 


BIBLIOGRAPHY  OF  ANDREYEFF       201 

Evropy,  1904  (Evg.  L) ;    Vi^y,  1904,  No.  5  (Ivanov 
Viacheslav). 
Son  o.  Vas.  Fiv. :  neizdannyl  otryvok  iz  "Zhizn'  o.  V.  F.** 
Father  Basil's  Dream:    An  Unpublished  Fragment 
from  "The  Life  of  .  .  .'* 


1904 

NSt  proshcheniia.     It  Cannot  be  Pardoned. 
Vor.     The  Thief. 
Discussed  in:  lUzhn.  Zap.,  April  17,  1905  (Th.  Batiush- 
kov). 
Prizraki.     Phantoms. 

Discussed  in :  Obr.,  1905,  No.  3  (V.  L'vov). 
Krasnyl  Sm^kh :  otryvki  iz  naidennago  rukopisi.*     The  Red 
Laugh :  Fragments  of  a  Discovered  Manuscript. 
Das  Rothe  Lachen ;  aus  dem  Russ.  von  A.  Scholz.     Berlin, 

1905. 
The  Red  Laugh.     Fragments  of  a  Discovered  Manuscript ; 
trans,  from  the  Russ.  by  Alexandra  Linden.    London, 
1905. 
Le  Rire  Rouge.     La  Guerre  en  Mandchourie;    trad,  du 

russe  par  S.  Persky.     Paris,  1905. 
Discussed  in:   Independent,  58  (May  11,  1905) :  1043-46 
(Sophie  Witte);    Nizh.  List,  1905  (Ch.  Vetrinskn) ; 
Obr.,  1905,  No.  3  (V.  LVov) ;  Obraz.,  1905,  No.  10  (O. 
Mirtov). 

1905 

Gubernator.*'  "•  "    The  Governor. 

His  Excellency,  the  Governor;  trans,  by  .     lUuS' 

trated  by  G.  W.  Peters,  in  Harper's  Weekly,  51  (1907) : 

196-198,  236-239,  270-275,  310-313. 
Der  Gouverneur:    Novelle;    Ubersetzt  von  Aug.  SchoU. 

Berlin,  1906.     Also  contains  Tak  bylo. 
Le  Gouverneur ;  trad,  de  J.  Ferenczy.     Paris,  1900. 


202       BIBLIOGRAPHY  OF  ANDREYEFF 

Tak  bylo.*    Thus  It  Was. 

See  Der  Gouverneur ;  ubersetzt  von  Scholz. 
KTzvSzdam.*    To  the  Stars. 
Zu  den  Sternen ;  Deutsch  von  Aug.  Scholz.     Berlin,  1906. 
Reviewed  in:   Der  Tiirmer  (Stuttgart),  March,  1906, 
pp.  862-864  (F.  Poppenberg). 
To  the  Stars ;  trans,  by  A.  Goudiss,  in  Poet  Lore,  Winter 

No.,  1907. 
Plot  outlined  in  Current  Lit.,  40  (March,  1906) :  312. 
Discussed  in :  Str.,  May,  1906  (E.  Anichkov) ;  Mir  Bozh., 

1906,  No.  7  (Th.  Batiushkov) ;  Nov.  Slovo,  Jan.,  1910 
(A.  Izmaflov) ;  ftfzh.  Krai,  Nov.  1,  1906  (N.  Kara- 
vaev) ;   Ros.,  No.  464,  1907  (N.  Lnd.). 

Khristlane.  *     Christians . 

Christen :  Novelle.     (Russ.  Text.)     Stuttgart,  1905. 

1906 
Savva.*    Savva. 
Ignis  Sanat  (Savva) :  Drama ;  Deutsch  von  O.  D.  Potthof . 

Berlin,  1906. 
Savva  and  the  Life  of  Man ;   trans,  with  an  Introduction 

by  T.  Seltzer.     New  York,  1914. 
Reviewed  in:  lnd.,  79  (July  13,  1914) :  72^ 
Discussed  in :   Rus',  Oct.,  19^08  (V.  Botsianovskil) ;   Rus\ 

1907,  No.  182  (A.  Legri) ;  Obr.,  1906,  No.  11  (A. 
Smirnov). 

Eleazar.*'  "•  "    Lazarus. 

Trans,  in  Current  Lit.,  42  (May,  1907) :  577-584. 
Discussed  in:    Zakavk.,   1907,  No.   136   (N.  Derzhavin); 
Obraz.,  1907,  No.  3  (V.  L'vov) ;  Sovr.  Mir,  1907,  Nos. 
7,  8  (Evg.  Liatskn) ;  Rus',  1906,  No.  47  (M.  Voloshin). 
See  also :  Valentinov,  N.,  My  eshche  pridem.   Moskva, 
1908. 
Zhizn'  Cheloveka:    Predstavlenie  v  piati  kartinakh  s  pro- 
logom.*    The  Life  of  Man:   A  Drama  in  Five  Scenes 
with  a  Prolog. 


BIBLIOGRAPHY  OF  ANDREYEFF       20S 

Abstract  by  M.  Baring,  in  Oxford  and  Camb.  Rev.,  1908,  No. 
4,  pp.  46-59 ;  reprinted  in  Litt.  Liv.  Age,  258  (1908) : 
786-792. 

Das  Leben  des  Menschen;  Deutsch  von  Aug.  Scholz. 
Berlin,  1908. 

Trans,  by  Seltzer.     See  above  under  "Savva.** 

Discussed  in :  Russ.  Bogat.,  1907,  No.  7  (A.  E.  R.) ;  Stol. 
Utr.,  1907,  Nos.  11,  12  (V.  Arnord) ;  Vhy,  1908,  No. 
1  (Avreln) ;  Mosk.  VH.,  July  14,  1908  (Basargin) ; 
SUwOy  Dec.  19,  1907  (P.  Boborykin) ;  Noooe  Vremta, 
Aug.  24,  1907  (V.  Burenin);  Liter-khud.  NedUta, 
Sept.  17,  1907  (Andrei  B%I) ;  Mosk.  VH.,  1907 
(Ben);  Sowr.  Mir,  1909,  No.  11,  p.  65  (N.  Efros) ; 
mch\  April  2,  1908  (D.  V.  Filosofov) ;  Vhsy,  1907, 
No.  5  (Anton  Kralnnil  =  Z.  Gippius) ;  Slovo,  April  80, 
1907  (L.  Gurevich) ;  Russ.  Slovo,  March  6,  1907  (V. 
Doroshevich) ;  Golos  Pravdy,  1907,  No.  531  (Litera- 
turnyl  Starovgr) ;  Obraz.,  1907,  No.  3  (V.  I/vov) ; 
Sbcrrnik  Zarnitza,  1909,  No.  2,  Pt.  I  (Ovslaniko- 
Kulikovskil) ;  Russ.  Zn.,  April  20,  1907  (Rynda) ; 
Birzh.  Ved.,  April  7,  1907  ("S");  Kiev.  Gazeta,  1907, 
No.  92  ("S") ;  Volga,  Jan.  28,  1908  (Sergei  Glagol') ; 
Sher  (Vologda),  July  27,  1907  (L.  T-tskH) ;  Ru8\ 
Feb.,  1907  (M.  Voloshin). 

1907 

luda  Iskariot  i  drugte.*'  "•  "    Judas  Iscariot  and  the  Others. 

Judas  Iscariot  and  the  Others;  trans,  into  English  by 
Archibald  J.  Wolfe,  in  Sewanee  Rev.,  April,  1908.  Re- 
viewed in:   Current  Ut.,  44  (April,  1908) :  401-404. 

Judas  Iscariot ;   trans,  by  W.  J.  Lowe.     London,  1910. 

Discussed  in:  Vhsy,  1907,  No.  7  (Anton  KraInnn=Z. 
Gippius) ;  Vbk,  Feb.  17,  1907  (S.  Askol'dov) ;  Svobod. 
MysV,  1908,  No.  1  (Chukovski) ;  Russ.  Vid.,  1907, 
No.  106   ("I.");    Sovr.  Mir,  1907,  Nos.  7,  8  (Evg. 


204       BIBLIOGRAPHY  OF  ANDREYEFF 

Liatskil);  Nasha  Gazeta,  Jan.,  1908  (N.  Minskn) ; 
Novoe  Vremia,  July,  1907  (V.  Rozanov) ;  Russ.  Zn., 
July  15,  1907  (A.  Trishatnyl) ;  Slovo,  June  1,  1907 
(D.  Shestakov);  Rus\  July,  1907  (M.  Voloshin). 
See  also:  L.  Burgov,  Povgst'  L.  A.  "lud.  Isk.  i  dr.," 
Kharkov,  1911 ;  N.  Valentino v.  My  eshche  pridem, 
Moskva,  1908. 
T'ma.*'  8    Darkness. 

Der  Spion;  aus  dem  Russ.  von  S.  Wermer.  Vienna, 
Wiener,  1905. 

Discussed  in:  Odess.  Nov.,  Dec.  2,  1907  (I.  Gekker); 
Vhy,  1908,  No.  2  (Anton  Kralnnfl  =  Z.  Gippius) ; 
Tovar.,  Dec.  2,  1907  (A.  Kornfel'd) ;  Russ.  Ved,,  Dec. 
1,  1907  ("I.");  Golos  Pravdy,  Jan.  11,  1908  (Litera- 
turnyl  Starovgr) ;  Nasha  Gazeta,  March,  1908  (N. 
Minskn) ;  Slovo,  Nov.  30,  1907  (Neblagosklonnyl 
Chitatel') ;  Nash  Den',  1908,  No.  13  (G.  Polonskil) ; 
Novoe  Vremia,  1907  (V.  Rozanov).  See  also:  E. 
Anichkov,  Literaturnye  obrazy  i  mnSniia,  Petrograd, 
1907 ;  A  Kornfel'd,  Knigi  i  liudi,  Petrograd,  1908. 
Proklatie  Zv^ria.*     The  Curse  of  the  Beast. 

Discussed  in:   Kiev.  M.,  March  11,  1908  (A.  Achkasov) ; 
Nasha  Gazeta,  March,  1908^ (N.  Minskn).     See  also: 
B.  Lebedev,  Proklatie  zvSria,  Petrograd,  1908. 
Tsar'  Golod.*     King  Hunger. 

Tsar'  Golod :  predstavlenie  v  piati  kartinakh  s  prologom. 
Risunki  E.  Landsere.     Petrograd,  1908. 

King  Hunger ;  trans,  by  Eugene  M.  Kayden,  in  Poet  Lore, 
Winter  No.,  1911. 

Discussed  in:  Russ.  Mys.,  1908,  No.  3  (HI.  Alkhenwal'd) ; 
RuV,  March  9,  1908  (A.  Vergezhskn);  Sbornik 
"Literal.  Raspad,"  1908  (Lunacharskil) ;  Nash  Den', 
1908,  No.  16  (G.  Polonskn).  See  also :  N.  Valentinov, 
My  eshche  Pridem,  Moskva,  1908. 


BIBLIOGRAPHY  OF  ANDREYEFF      205 

1908 

Smert  Chelov6ka :  novyl  variant  piatol  kartiny  "Zhizni  che- 
lov^ka."  {With  a  prefatory  note  by  the  authm.)  The 
Death  of  Man  :  A  variation  of  the  fifth  act  of  the  "  Life 
of  Man." 
Razskaz  o  semi  povSshennykh.*  The  Story  of  the  Seven 
Who  were  Hanged.  {In  some  editions  a  dedication  to 
Leo  Tolstoi  is  added.) 
Die  Geschichte  der  Sieben  Gehenkten ;  Ubersetzt  von  Aug. 

Scholz.     Berlin,  1908. 
The  Seven  Who  were  Hanged :  A  Story ;  authorized  trans, 
from  the  Russian  by  Herman  Bernstein.     New  York, 
1909. 
The  Seven  Who  were  Hanged ;  trans,  by  Edwin  C.  Walker. 

(Tucker  Series.)     New  York,  1909. 
Same.     London,  1909. 

Die  Geschichte  der  Sieben  Gehenkten :    Novelle,  mit  der 
Selbstbiographie  des  Verfassers ;   ubersetzt  von  LuUy 
Wiebeck.     2d  ed.     Munich,  1909. 
Les  Sept  Pendus:  L'histoire  d'un  pope;  trad,  de  S.  Persky 

en  collaboration  avec  A.  Tauchard.     Paris,  1909. 
Discussed  in:   Grazhdan.,  July  22,  1908  (Vol'nyl) ;  Sovr. 
Mir,  1908,  No.  4  (V.  Kranikhferd) ;   Rech',  July  19, 
1908  (D.  Merezhkovskil) ;    Nov.  Slow,  1909,  No.  2 
(Smolenskn) ;   Slovo,  May  18,  1908  (G.  Chulkov). 
Iz  razskaza,  kotoryl  nikogda  ne  budet  okonchen.    A  Story 
that  will  Never  be  Finished  :  A  Fragment. 
A  Story  which  will  Never  be  Fmished ;  trans,  by  Herman 
Bernstein  with  a  Brief  Biographical  Sketch,  in  Inde- 
pendent, 65  (Nov.,  1908) :  1031-34. 
Chernyia  Maski.*    The  Black  Maskers. 

Discussed  in:  Rkh',  Dec.  7,  1909  (L.  Andreev).     See  also: 
S.  Strumilin,  Aristocratlia  dukha  i  profany.    Petro- 
grad,  1910. 
Velikan.    The  Giant. 


206      BIBLIOGRAPHY  OF  ANDREYEFF 

Dni  nashel  zhizni.*    Days  of  Our  Life. 

Studentenliebe :    Drama  in  Fiinf  Aufzugen ;   Deutsch  von 

Karl  Ritter.     Berlin,  1909. 
Iz  strany  (A  song  from  act  I  of  "Days  of  O.  L.").     Petro- 

grad,  1910. 
Discussed  in :  Novoe  Vremia,  Nov.  6,  1908  (lU.  Beliaev) ; 
Der  Kunstwarty  Jan.  24,  1911  (F.  Dusel) ;  Slovo,  1909, 
No.  811  (Gr.  Petrov) ;  Birzh.  Ved.,  Nov.  6,  1908  (A. 
Izmailov) ;  Rech\  Dec.  6, 1908,  No.  299  (A.  Kosorotov) 
Liubov'  k  blizhnemu.*     Love  for  One's  Neighbor.^ 

Love  of  One's  Neighbor ;  trans,  by  Thomas  Seltzer.     New 
York,  1914. 
Liubov',  vera,  nadezhda :  Etiud.     Love,  Faith  and  Hope. 
Moi  zapiski:  povest'.*     My  Memoirs. 

Discussed  in :    Mir,  1909,  No.  4   (K.  Arabazhin) ;    Russ. 
Bogat,  1909,  No.  1  (A.  Kornfel'd) ;   Russ.  Slovo,  Oct. 
11,  1908  (A.  lAblonovskil) ;  Rech',  1908,  No.  278  (D. 
Levin) ;   Vecher,  Oct.  16,  1908  (V.  Morov).     See  also: 
A.  Al'man,  Moi  zapiski,  Saratov,  1908. 
Derzhite  vora.     Stop,  Thief ! 
L^tushchaia  mysh'.     The  Bat.     (A  Farce.) 
Kliatva.     The  Oath. 

Trans,  into  Lettish.     Riga,  1908. 

1909 
Syn  chelovScheskiJ :  razskaz.*     A  Son  of  Man. 
Anfisa.*     Anfisa. 

Discussed  in :  Reck',  1909,  No.  280  (VI.  Azov) ;  Rech',  1909, 
Nos.  296,  335. 
Anatema:   Tragediia.*     Anatema  :  A  Tragedy. 

^  In  Rhh'y  No.  85,  Andreyeff  calls  attention  to  the  fact  that 
a  certain  "  K.,"  in  his  volume  of  "  Miscellanies,"  had  published 
this  story  (first  published  in  the  Gazeta  Kur'era)  without  com- 
plying with  Andreyeff's  conditions  to  date  it  and  state  that 
it  was  reprinted.  Andreyeff  adds  that  "K."  also  plagiarized 
two  other  stories. 


BIBLIOGRAPHY  OF  ANDREYEFF       207 

Anatema :  A  Tragedy  in  Seven  Scenes ;  authorized  trans, 
by  Herman  Bernstein.     New  York,  1910. 

Reviewed  in:  Nation,  91  (Oct.  27,  1910):  397;  The  Dial, 
49  (1910) :  523  (Richard  Burton) ;  N.  Y.  Times,  16 
(Jan.  29,  1911):  43;  N.  Amer.  Rev.,  194  (1911):  882- 
887  (O.  R.  Howard  Thompson,  under  the  title:  "An- 
dreyev's Anatema  and  the  Faust  Legend"). 

A  parody  entitled  "Anatema  Andel  Leonidov"  was  staged  in 
the  Ekaterinsk'il  Theatre  in  Petrograd  in  1910. 

Anatema :  Ein  tragischer  Spiel  in  Sieben  Bildern ;  Deutsch 
von  Karl  Ritter.     Berlin,  1911. 

Discussed  in:  R^ch',  1909,  No.  328  (VI.  Azov);  Novoe 
Vremia,  1909,  Nov.  29  (lU.  B.) ;  Russ.  MysV,  1909, 
No.  12  (L.  Gurevich) ;  Russ.  MysV,  1909,  No.  1  (A. 
Kizevetter) ;  Sovrem.  Mir,  1910,  No.  1  (V.  Kranikh- 
fel'd);  Rech',J9n,  No.  254  (M.  B.) ;  mch',  1909, 
No.  352  (Ovsianiko-KulikovskiK) ;  Russ.  Bogat.,  1909, 
No.  12  (A.  R^ko);  Rech',  Oct.,  1909  (N.  Jlfros) ; 
Rech',  1909,  Nos.  324,  325.  See  also:  L.  Briantsev, 
Ideia  traged'ii  L.  Andreeva  "Anatema"  i  eia  razvitle, 
Kharkov,  1910;  K.  Fisher,  "Anatema"  v.  posta- 
novskg  Mosk.  khudozh.  teatra,  Moscow,  1910;  I.  V. 
Churinov,  "Tragediia  Mysli"  po  povodu  "Anatemy" 
L.  Andreeva,  Petrograd,  1910. 

1910 

"  Gaudeamus  "  :  Komediia  v  chetyrekh  d^lstvliakh  *    "  Gau- 
deamus"  :  A  Comedy  in  Four  Acts. 
Gaudeamus :    Komodie  in  4  Akten.     {In  russ.  Sprache.) 

Berlin,  Bong  &  Co.,  1910. 
L.  Gebek  publisfied  (1910)  a  waltz  composed  for  this  drama. 
Discussed  in:  RJtch',  1910,  No.  256  (VI.  Azov). 
Iskrenml    Sm6kh :     razskaz    veselago    chelov6ka.     A    Real 

Laugh :  The  Story  of  a  Jolly  Man. 
Den'  gnfiva :  razskaz.     Dies  Irae :  A  Tale. 


208       BIBLIOGRAPHY  OF  ANDREYEFF 

Razskaz  zmel  o  torn,  kak  poiavilis'  u  neia  iadovitye  zuby. 
A  Snake's  Story  of  how  She  got  Her  Poisoned  Teeth. 

Note. — On  Oct.  31,  1910,  Andreyeff  published  in  several 
Petrograd  papers  an  open  letter  in  which  he  announced  that 
he  had  been  forbidden  to  publish  any  further  works  during 
the  academic  year  1910-1911. 

1911 

Pokol.     Rest. 

Smert'  Gullivera  (posl6  smerti  L.  N.  Tolstogo).     The  Death 

of  Gulliver  (On  the  Death  of  Leo  Tolstoi). 
Ipatov.     Ipatov. 
Okean.     The  Ocean. 

Okean  :  tragediia  v  7mi  kartinakh  s  risunkami  B.  Anisfel'da. 

Petrograd,  1911. 
Der  Ocean  :  Tragodie.     {In  russ.  Sprache.)     Berlin,  Bong 

&  Co.,  1911. 
Discussed  in:   Rech',  1910,  No.  265  (S.  Liubosh — contains 
Andreevs  interpretation  of  the  drama) ;    Russ.  Bogats., 
1911,  No.  5  (A.  R6dko) ;  Rech\  1911,  No.  77  (Chukov- 
skil). 
Sashka  Zhigulov  :*  roman  v  2  chastiakh.     Alec  Zhigulov  :   A 
Novel  in  Two  Parts. 
Ssaschka  Shigulov :  Roman  in  2  Teilen.     {In  russ.  Sprache.) 

Berlin,  Bong  &  Co.,  1911. 
Discussed  in:   Rech',  191^,  No.  7  (lUr.  Alkhenval'd). 
Skazochki  ne  sovsem  dlia  detel :  Oreshek,  Negodal,  Fal'shivyl 
rubl'  i  dobryJ  diadia. 
Tales  not  exclusively  for  Children :  The  Nut,  The  Rascal, 
The  Counterfeit  Ruble  and  the  Goodnatured  Uncle. 

1912 

Prekrasnyia  Sabinianki :  istoricheskoe  proisshestvie  v  trekh 
chastiakh.*  The  Beautiful  Sabine  Women:  An  His- 
torical Event  in  Three  Parts. 


BIBLIOGRAPHY  OF  ANDREYEFF      209 

The  Lovely  Sabine  Women ;   trans,  from  the  Russian  by 
Thomas  Seltzer,  in  The  Drama,  Feb.,  1914. 
Chest'   (StaryX  Graf) :    Drama -parodlia.     Honor  (The  Old 

Count) :  A  Dramatic  Parody. 
Preface  to  the  Russian  translation  of  Jack  London's  Works. 

Petrograd,  1912. 
Ekaterina  Ivanovna.*    Catherine  Ivanovna. 
Professor  Storitsyn.*     Professor  Storitsyn. 
Discussed  in:  Peterb.  Gaz.,  1912,  No.  345. 

1913-1914 

Pis'ma  o  teatrg.     (Two)  Letters  on  the  Theatre. 

Ne  ubil:  drama.*    Do  not  kill :  A  Drama. 

Mysl' :  drama  :*    Thought :  A  Drama. 

Nadsmertnoe.*    Beyond  Death.  ^ 

Vozvrat.*    The  Return. 

Proisshestvle.*    An  Event.     {A  dramatic  scene.) 

PopugaJ:  simvolicheskoe  predstavlenie  v  odnom  dSIstviL 
The  Parrot :  A  Symbolic  Drama  in  one  Act. 

An  interview  giving  Andreev's  views  on  the  effects  which  the 
present  war  will  have  on  the  government  of  Russia  was  pub- 
lished on  Sept.  16  in  the  London  Daily  Chronicle  and  the 
New  York  Times. 

In  DecembeTy  1914,  the  Alexandrinshl  Theatre  presented  An- 
dreev's  latest  drama,  Karol',  Zakon  i  Svoboda,  dealing  vnih 
the  Belgian  sitvution. 
A  Tragedy  of  Belgium ;  Act  IV;  trans,  by  Herman  Bern- 
stein, in  New  York  Sun,  Dec.  20,  1914. 

III.  TRANSLATIONS,  CONTAINING  TWO  OR  MORE 
DIFFERENT  WORKS  IN  THE  SAME  VOLUME 

1.  Die    Llige.    Ausgewahlte    ErzShlungen.    Deutsch    von 

N.  Homstein.     Dresden,  H.  Minden,  1902. 
Reviewed  in :  Litt.  Echo,  No.  5. 

2.  Novellen.    Deutsch  von  Stefania  Goldenring.    Berlin, 

Neufeld  &  Henius,  1902. 


210       BIBLIOGRAPHY  OF  ANDREYEFF 

Contains :  Zhili-byli,  Molchanie,  Sm6kh,  Lozh',  Bezdna, 
Valia,  Petka  na  dachg,  Bol'shol  shlem,  Nabat. 

3.  Der  Auslander  und  andere  Geschichten.     Deutsch  von 

Anna  Lubinov.     Berlin,  Steinetz,  1903. 

4.  Gedanke  und  andere  Novellen.     Aus  dem  Russischen  von 

Eliz.  und  Jorik  Georg.     Munich,  A.  Langen,  1903. 

5.  Im   Erdgeschoss    und    Anderes.     Berlin,    Globus  Verl., 

1903. 

6.  Im  Nebel  und  andere  Novellen.     Aus  dem  Russischen 

von  Eliz.  und  Jorik  Georg.     Stuttgart,  Dent.  Verl.- 
Anst.,  1903. 
Reviewed  in:  Lift.  Echo,  1903,  No.  5,  p.  1036. 

7.  Novellen.     Aus   dem  Russischen  von  Alexis  von  Kru- 

senstjerna.     Leipzig,  1903. 

8.  Der  Spion.     Aus  dem  Russischen  von  S.  Wermer.     Wien, 

Wiener,  1903. 

9.  Der  Abgrund  und  andere  Novellen.     Deutsch  von  Th. 

Kroczek.     Halle,  1905. 

10.  M.  Gorki,  M.  Weressajeff,  L.  Andrejew,  Jung  Russland. 

Neue  Novellen.  Aus  dem  Russ.  (  =  Internal.  Novel. - 
Bibl.,  No.  13).     Berlin,  Globus  Verl.,  1904. 

11.  Judas  Ischariot  und  die  Anderen  und  Lazarus.     Uber- 

setzt  von  Otto  Biik.     Berlin,  Ladyschnikow,  1908. 

12.  Friihlingsversprechen  und  andere  Geschichten.     Autori- 

zierte    Ubersetzung    von   Sonja    Wermer.     Leipzig, 
Wiener,  1908. 

13.  Silence  and  Other  Stories.     Trans,  from  the  Russ.  by 

W.  H.  Lowe.     London,  Griffith,  1908. 
Contains:  Petka  na  dachS,   Angelochek,   Molchanie, 
Kusaka,  Nabat,  V  podvale. 

14.  Nouvelles.     Traduites  du  russe  par  Serge  Persky.     Paris, 

1908. 
Contains:   Le    Gouverneur,    Kusaka,   Zhizn'   shtabs- 
kapitan    Kablukova,    Inostranets,    Bargamot    i 
Garas'ka,     Gostinets,     Na     stantzii,     Prekrasna 
Zhizn'.  .  .  . 


BIBLIOGRAPHY  OF  ANDREYEFF      211 

15.  Judas  Ischariot  und  Lazarus.     Deutsch  von  R.  Meckelein. 

Berlin,  1909. 

16.  Korolenko,  Le  musicien  aveugle.     Le  Gouverneur,  etc., 

par  Leonid  Andreief.     Trad,  de  J.  Ferenczy.    Paris, 
Ferenczy,  1909. 

17.  Sawa  and  The  Life  of  Man.    Trans,  with  an  introd.  by 

T.  Seltzer.    New  York,  Kennerley,  1914. 

18.  Der  Gouverneur;    Ubersetzt  von  Aug.  Scholz.    Berlin, 

1906. 

IV.  BIOGRAPHICAL  AND  CRITICAL  BOOKS. 
ESSAYS,  ETC.,  ON  ANDREYEFF 

A.  Books  and  Pamphlets 

Arabazhin,  K.,  L.  Andreev.  Itogi  tvorchestva.  Petrograd, 
1910. 

Baranov,  N.  P.,  L.  Andreev  kak  khudozhnik,  psikholog  i 
myslitel'.     Kiev,  1907. 

Botsianovskn,  V.,  L.  Andreev.  Kritiko-biograficheskll  etiud. 
Petrograd,  1904. 

Bnisianin,  V.  V.,  L.  Andreev.  Zhizn'  i  tvorchestvo.  Mos- 
cow, 1912. 

ChukovskH,  K.,  Leonid  Andreev  bol'shol  i  malen'kn.  Petro- 
grad, 1908. 

Chukovskn,  K.,  O  Leonids  AndreevS.    Petrograd,  1911. 

Churinov,  I.,  Tragedlia  Mysli.     Petrograd,  1910. 

Dobrokhotov,  A.,  Kar'era  L.  Andreeva.     Moscow,  1909. 

Etinger,  E.,  Ngkto  v  s6rom  i  nekto  v  krasnom  u  L.  Andreeva. 
Kiev,  1908. 

Friche,  W.,  L.  Andreev.  Opyt  kharakteristiki.  Moscow, 
1909. 

Ganzhulevich,  T.,  Russkaia  zhizn'  i  eia  techenle  v  tvorche»tv« 
L.  A-a.     2d  ed.     Petrograd,  1908. 

Ivanov,  P.,  Vagram  L.  Andreeva!  Psikhologicheskn  etiud. 
Moscow,  1904. 

M.  K.,  Leonid  Andreev.  S  biograficl  i  portreiom.  Moscow. 
1903. 


212       BIBLIOGRAPHY  OF  ANDREYEFF 

Murom tsev.  Dr.  M.,  Psikhopaticheskie  cherty  v  geroiakh  L. 

Andreeva.     Petrograd,  1910. 
Orlovskn,  Iz  istorii  novelshei  russkoi  literatury.     Petrograd, 

1910. 
Reisner,  Prof.  M.  A.,  L.  Andreev  i  ego  sotsialnaia  ideologiia. 

Petrograd,  1909. 
Smolenskn,  N.,  Zashchitnikam  L.  Andreeva.     Moscow,  1909. 
Stomiarov-Sukhanov,  Simvolizm  i  L.  Andreev  kak  ego  pred- 

stavitel'.     Kiev,  1903. 
Urusov,  kn.  H.  Bezsil'nye  liudi  v  izobrazhenie  L.  Andreeva. 

Petrograd,  1903. 
Varton,  V.,  L.  N.  Tolstoi  i  L.  Andreev.     Baku,  1909. 
Zhurakovskil,  E.,  Simptomy  literaturnol  evolutsil.     Moscow, 

1903. 
Zhurakovskil,  E.,  Tragikomediia  sovremennol  zhizni.     Mos- 
cow, 1907. 

B.  Articles  Contained  in  Books,  Magazines,  Etc. 

Aleksandrov,  P.,  Maksim  Gorki!  i  L.  Andreev.     Ikh  zhizn'  i 

proizvedeniia.     Riga,  1903. 
Aleksandrovich,  lU.,  Posle  Chekhova.     Moscow,  1908,  236- 

289. 
Andreev,  Autobiography,  in  Zhur.  dlia  Vsekh,  Jan.,  1903. 
Anonymousy   see    Current   Lit.,    45    (Sept.,    1908) :  182-286 ; 

Samar.  Gazeta,  Feb.,  1902. 
Antid-Oto,  in  Vostoch.  Ohozr.,  June,  1902 ;  Lv.  Aurich,  in  Das 

Wissenfur  Alle,  1912,  No.  47;  Balte,  F.  M.,  in  Morgen 

(Berlin),   1908,  No.  47;    Allg.  Zeitung,  Oct.   4,   1909; 

Avrelil,  in  Vesy,  1908,  No.  1. 
B(ogdanovich),  A.,  in  M'ir  Bozhii,  1901,  No.  11 ;   Abramov, 

lA.,  and  Granitov,  in  Pr'iaz.  Krai,  Jan.  and  Sept.,  1902; 

borel,  a  satirical  poem  on  A.,  in  Novoe  Vremia,  Nov.  28, 

1909 j^  Botsianovskil,  V.,  Bogobortsy.     Petrograd,  1911. 

Botsianovskn,  V.,  in  LU.  Vestn.,  Jan.,  1902;   Bruckner, 

A.,  Geschichte  der  russ.  Lit.  (Leipzig,  1905),  pp.  501/.; 

Bruck,  R.,  in  MasJcen,  1908;    Burenin,  V.,  in  Nome 


BIBLIOGRAPHY  OF  ANDREYEFF       213 

Vremia,  Jan.,  1902;  Chagovets,  V.,  in  Ktevsk.  Gaz., 
Nov.,  1903 ;  ChukovskH,  K.,  in  TUch\  1911,  No.  85. 

Fidler,  F.  F.,  Pervye  literatur.  shagi.  Moscow,  1911,  pp. 
27-31. 

Goldenring,  St.,  in  Norddeut.  Allg.  Zeit.  (Berlin),  No.  260. 

Ivanov-Razumnik,  O  symsiS  zhizni  (Petrograd,  1908)  and 
Tvorchestvo  i  kritika  (Petrograd,  1911). 

Izmallov,  A.,  Literatur.  Olimp.  (Petrograd,  1911) ;  samey  in 
Birzh.  VM.,  April  9,  1901. 

Kogan,  P.,  Ocherki  po  istorii  nov^Ishel  russ.  lit.,  vol.  I,  pt.  2, 
pp.  1-61. 

Kube,  O.,  Koshmary  Zhizni.     Petrograd,  1909. 

Lavretsky,  I.,  in  Independent,  67  (July  29,  1909) :  242-245 ; 
Linden,  S.,  in  Indep^  Rev.,  8  (Feb.,  1907) :  215-227; 
Lolo,  in  Novosti  Dnia,  May,  1907;  LunacharskH,  in 
Sbornik  " Liter aturn.  Raspad"  (Petrograd,  1908);  L'vov, 
v.,  in  Odessk.  Novosti,  1903 ;  Merezhkovskn,  D.  S.,  in 
Svobod.  MysV,  Jan.,  1908,  and  in  Russk.  MysV,  Jan.,  1908 ; 
Mikhaflovskn,  N.  K.,  in  Russk.  Bogat.,  1901,  No.  11; 

Morozov,  M.,  Ocherki  novelshel  lit.  Petrograd,  1911,  pp.  1-70. 

Nev^domskil,  V.,  in  Sovremennyl  Mir,  1908,  No.  2 ;  Obolen- 
skil,  in  Odessk.  Listok,  April,  1902. 

Persky,  Serge,  Les  Maltres  du  Roman  Russe  Contemporain. 
Paris,  1912,  pp.  245-285. 

Phelps,  Wm.  L.,  Essays  on  Russian  Novelists.  New  York, 
1911,  pp.  262-277. 

Pil'skn,  P.,  O  L.  AndreevS,  Sologubg,  KuprinS,  etc.  Petro- 
grad, 1909. 

P-n,  P.,  in  Sovrem.  M'ir,  April,  1908 ;  Protopopov,  M.  A.,  in 
Russ.  MysV,  1902,  No.  3 ;  Rodef,  in  Wiener  Fremden- 
blatt,  June  6,  1903;  Rozanov,  V.  V.,  in  Novoe  Vremta, 
June  2, 1903  ;  Sarakhanov,  K.,  in  Sarat.  List.,  April,  1904 ; 
Scholz,  A.,  in  Zeit  (Vienna),  1906^^ No.  411;  Seltzer. 
Th.,  in  The  Drama,  Feb.,  1914 ;  Shuliatikov.  V.,  in  Moak, 
Kur'er,  Oct.  9, 1901 ;  Simchowitz,  in  Die  Kultur,  March, 
190S;  same,  in  Landeszeitung ;  Beiblatt.  Badi^t^h.  Mum., 


214       BIBLIOGRAPHY  OF  ANDREYEFF 

1903,  No.  23;  Skabichevskil,  A.  M.,  in  Novosti,  Jan., 
1902 ;  L.  N.  Tolstoi,  in  Sbornik  Italiia,  1909 ;  Wolshsky, 
N.,  in  Nation  (Berlin),  1903,  No.  50;  same,  in  Die  Zeit 
(Berlin),  1903,  No.  50;  Wyzewa,  T.  de,  m  Rev.  d.  deux 
Mondes,  May  15,  1909. 

:^*^  Additional  references  to  articles  in  the  Russian  period- 
ical press  treating  Andreyeff's  literary  work  as  a  whole  and 
also  dealing  with  the  following  separate  works:  Bezdna, 
V  tumane,  Zhizn'  Vas.  Fiv.,  Krasnyl  smekh,  K  zvezdam, 
Savva,  Tak  bylo,  Vor,  Gubernator,  luda  Iskariot,  Zhizn' 
cheloveka,  T'ma,  Tsar'  Golod,  Razskaz  o  semi  poveshennykh, 
Moi  zapiski,  Chernyia  maski,  Anfisa,  Gaudeamus,  Anatema, 
Prekrasnyia  Sabinianki,  Professor  Storitsyn,  Ekaterina  Iva- 
novna  and  Pis'ma  o  teatre,  will  be  found  in 

V.  L'vov-Rogachevskn,  Dve  pravdy:  Khiga  o  Leonide 
Andreeve  s  portretami,  Petrograd,  Prometei  C°,  1914.  Price, 
1)4  rubles. 

But  few  of  these  references  are  included  in  the  present 
Bibliography,  since  the  book  of  L'vov-Rogachevsk'fl  is  readily 
obtainable. 


UN 


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